Come Back Tomorrow
by Shadow Masen
Summary: Sometimes the bad things that happen in our lives put us directly in the path of the best things that will ever happen to us. ExB AH
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Tuesday, July 10, 2012**

The door has barely closed on my last patient when I hear a quiet tapping. I've already switched into chart annotating-mode, so I don't even look up as I call, "Come in." The door swings open, and I glance up to find Alice, one of my best friends and a nurse on the oncology floor, leaning against the doorway.

I grin up at her, but then continue with the note I'm making—I don't want to forget the exact words my last patient said regarding finally coming to terms with his wife's death. "What's up, Alice?" I ask, still scribbling away.

"Hey, Bells, I have some work for you," she answers.

"On your floor?"

"Yes."

Sighing, I pause in my notation. I love my job at the hospital. I've been a practicing psychologist here for six years, and I get a lot of satisfaction out of working with my patients—particularly when I'm able to help families through the grieving process after they've lost a loved one. But I have another job I take on, mostly in my off-hours. About two years ago, I overheard a few of the nurses talking about a terminal patient on the oncology floor who had no family coming to see him, and I knew I had to meet him. Over the next few weeks, we formed a friendship that changed us both, and I was able to help him find some happiness in the last days of his life. After that, I made it a point to ask the nurses to tell me the next time they had a patient like that who got no visitors, and the rest, as they say, is history. I am now the go-to psychologist when a terminal patient with no family is discovered, and I've made it my mission to offer them friendship and comfort at a time when they are most in need. It's always a very rewarding experience, but it's also the most difficult and gut-wrenching work I ever do.

It's work I feel compelled to do, but I'm not taking any new patients at the moment.

"Alice …"

"I know! You're taking a break for a while, but this one … I just couldn't let go."

Over the last year, there were four elderly patients who I befriended and supported as they made ready to leave this world. The last died just three months ago, at about the time I broke up with Peter, my boyfriend of four years. I really thought he was the one, but we had … irreconcilable differences. In the weeks that followed, I was very depressed. Hell, sometimes I think I still am. My therapist told me to take a break for a while; to take some time for myself to heal from both the break-up and all the time I've spent face to face with death.

I rub my temple, trying to ease the ache that's formed there. Well, it couldn't hurt to hear her out.

"What have you got for me?" I ask, trying to continue my notation. She draws in a deep breath before she starts in.

"Edward Masen, twenty-nine, Angioimmunoblastic T-cell Lymphoma, stage IV B."

My head snaps up. "_Twenty_-nine?" _Jesus, that's young to be dying of cancer, and to be all alone._

Alice just nods, her hands clutched together in front of her. Alice has been working on the oncology floor for five years now, and I swear she's seen everything. At this point in her career, hardly anything rattles her, but I can clearly see she's worked up over this one. She stares at me with sorrowful eyes.

"He was brought in for a secondary infection a week ago. He was altered at the time, due to fever, but he begged us not to treat him. He has a DNR in place, but that only applies to intubation, not antibiotic treatment. Even after he was back in his right mind, he still asked us not to treat him, but that would violate hospital code. No one has come to visit him the entire time he's been here. He wants to die ... quickly. He's completely given up," she finishes, and I can see the tears in her eyes.

I'm caught off-guard by how emotional Alice is over this patient, but I try to maintain some clinical distance. It's a very difficult thing to do in situations like these, but it's the only way to survive. "_Should_ he have given up?" I ask softly.

"You need to see him," she replies.

Yes, apparently so.

**¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)**

After finishing my notes on the day's patients, I head up to the oncology floor. Alice is still working, and I check in with her at the nurse's station to find out the room number for Mr. Masen.

"He's in room four-twelve," she tells me. "He was having some pain today, so he's had morphine, but I think you should still be able to talk to him."

Nodding, I proceed down the hall, stopping outside the door and steeling myself. Alice's reaction to this guy has me on edge.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, I knock softly, but hear no response. I don't want to knock hard enough to wake him if he's sleeping, so I open the door just a bit and peek in. If he's asleep, I'll come back another day.

Angling my head around the door, I draw in a sharp breath. Even as sick as he is, Edward Masen is stunning. His hair is a mass of brown, wavy locks, with brassy reddish highlights strewn in, made even brighter by the fluorescent hospital lighting. It's relatively short on the sides, but long on the top, and hangs down onto his forehead. He has bushy eyebrows of the same reddish-brown and a chiseled jaw that squares strongly in the front. His shoulders are broad, and although his hollowed cheeks tell me he's underweight, clearly he's muscularly built. _Oh, wow._

Completely lost in my ogling, I push the door open a little further and it squeaks loudly. His head whips up, and the greenest eyes I've ever seen meet mine. I start breathing again with a gasp and shake my head to clear it. I smile at him tentatively, and what happens next completely blows me away.

His gorgeous face breaks into an absolutely incredible smile. His eyes seem to turn an even deeper green, and small laugh lines appear at the corners as his cheeks pucker into a boyish grin. His full pink lips narrow to reveal perfectly straight, white teeth, and the spread of his cheeks fills in the hollows so that if not for the circles under his eyes, I don't think I'd even be able to tell he's sick.

The smile stays there as he looks me over, obviously waiting for me to say something.

I shake my head again and take a few more steps into the room. "Hello, Mr. Masen."

"Hi there," he responds lazily, his head rolling slightly to one side.

Looking closer, I notice the glassiness of his eyes. Exactly how much morphine has he had today? "My name is Bella. Would you mind some company?"

"If by company, you mean you, I wouldn't mind at _all_," he says, his eyes raking over me in a way that makes certain parts tingle.

I clear my throat a bit and sit in the chair at his bedside. "How are you feeling today, Mr. Masen?"

He grins at me again, his tongue poking out between his chapped lips to moisten them. "Please, call me Edward." Then his brow furrows adorably. "What did you ask me?"

I can't help but chuckle as I realize what kind of conversation this is going to be. He's seriously high from the morphine. "I asked how you were feeling today."

"Right … sorry…" he mumbles. "Well, I think I was having a pretty crappy day, but then the nurses gave me this." He holds up the button for the PCA infusion pump for the morphine. "And then you came by. So at the moment, I'm feeling pretty good," he finishes with a grin.

I can't help but grin back at him, and I also can't bring myself to ask him any serious questions. He's in too good a mood, and I don't think I would get any straight answers from him anyway. "I'm glad to hear that."

"You're …" he begins, his eyes again roaming freely over me. "Never mind," he murmurs, blushing to the roots of his hair and looking away.

"What were you going to say?" I ask innocently, but I have a pretty good idea where his thoughts are.

"I was going to say … you're pretty, but it didn't seem like a good idea for some reason," he answers, a perplexed look on his face.

"That's okay, you can tell me I'm pretty," I tell him, and he grins at me again.

He closes his eyes, then opens them again slowly.

"Hey, I think you're getting pretty tired. Why don't you rest now, and I'll come back and see you tomorrow?" I suggest, putting my hands on the armrests of the chair to stand up.

His hand shoots out and grasps mine, surprising me. His fingers are warm and soft, and my skin tingles underneath his fingertips.

I glance up quickly into those impossibly green eyes to find them now tinged with sadness.

"Will you stay? At least for a few minutes? You're the first visitor I've had," he says softly, reminding me why I'm here. _Oh, damn._ My heart suddenly aches for him.

"Of course. You close your eyes and rest, and I'll stay right here."

"Thank you," he whispers as his eyes fall closed, already succumbing to the pull of the morphine.

I sit there for a while, just watching him sleep. He's gorgeous. _Jesus Christ, Bella, he's dying. You're not supposed to notice how good looking he is!_ But I can't help it. He's one of the handsomest men I've ever seen, despite the obvious signs of his illness.

And I have so many questions—questions that don't even come up for elderly patients. How did he end up in this place, seemingly at the end of his life, at such a young age? Where are his family and friends? Is he keeping them away somehow, or is there truly no one who cares about him? I find the latter _very_ hard to believe. Hell, I've known him for all of five minutes, and I can already see why Alice is taken with him—I can feel his pull on me, too, even though we just met.

He seems pretty easygoing, though. Maybe it won't be too hard get to know him and find out where the people who care about him are. But, God, he's so young. This is so … different from anything I've ever done before. I've never befriended a terminal patient who wasn't elderly. Can I really do this? I'm already guessing this will be the hardest "terminal" friendship I've ever formed, but as I watch him sleep, I know I can't turn my back on him now. I already told him I'll come back tomorrow.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading! Come Back Tomorrow will post once a week (on Mondays) initially, and then I'll up it to twice a week after I finish the story and get some more editing done. This story is currently 95% pre-written, so don't fear the WIP!

As you might have guessed from this chapter, Edward has cancer and this is going to be just a tiny bit angsty. If this is a trigger for you, you might want to stop reading now. If you need to know whether this is an HEA or not, please see the A/N on chapter 2.

I have a Facebook group where I'll be posting pictures and teasers as the story goes on. Just search for "Shadow Fics" on Facebook, and you'll find us!

It takes a village to nurture most stories, and this one is no exception. I have a lot of people who I'm extremely grateful to, and I'll thank them all throughout the posting, but today I want to mention the two people without whom you wouldn't be reading this. People who believe in you give you wings, and they have shoved me out of my little nest of insecurity and helped me to soar. BeLynda Smith and bornonhalloween, you are beyond awesome and I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me and for this story.

See you next week!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Wednesday, July 11, 2012**

I arrive at Edward's room around the same time as yesterday, and this time when I knock, I hear a muffled "come in" from the other side. I take a deep breath and brace myself for the sight of him, but even knowing how handsome he is, he still takes my breath away. Again, bright green eyes meet mine, but today, they're sharp and clear, and he looks … very different from yesterday. The creases at the corners of his eyes that appeared as laugh lines are more firmly etched—and I know from experience this is a manifestation of pain. His skin is pale, almost gray, making the hollows of his cheeks and the circles under his eyes even more noticeable. It's very clear, just to look at him, that he's very unwell. What a difference a day makes.

His lips curve into a faint smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and there's a slight wrinkle in his brow.

"Hello again, Edward," I say brightly, but I stop as the crease in his brow deepens. _Oh shit, I was afraid of this._ "I'm going to guess by the look on your face that you don't remember talking to me yesterday?"

His eyes narrow. "That was you?"

I nod. "I'm Bella."

He closes his eyes, huffing out a frustrated-sounding breath. "I was in a lot of pain … yesterday … so they pumped me full of morphine," he mutters. He doesn't seem to be able to breathe deeply enough to speak a full sentence. "I didn't realize … you were real. I thought …"

"You thought?" I prompt gently.

"I thought you were an angel," he finishes, his cheeks coloring in embarrassment as he looks away. His eyes shoot back to mine again, and this time they hold suspicion. "Why are you here?"

Apparently, a day has made a lot of difference—for a lot of things. The person I'm talking to now seems to bear little resemblance to the sweet young man who very nearly flirted with me yesterday. Most patients in his situation are just happy to have someone to talk to, but then again, all the patients I've dealt with before were much older than Edward. The look on his face tells me he isn't going to make this easy.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. I came to see you yesterday, but as you said, you were a bit out of it, so I told you I would come back today to visit you."

"But … why?" he repeats, the smile fading from his face. "Do you work … in the hospital?"

"Yes, I do," I reply, holding firmly to his gaze because I know what's going to happen next. "I'm a clinical psychologist—"

"Oh, God," he exclaims, looking away to stare scornfully at the floor. "This is because I tried … to refuse treatment … isn't it? Now the doctors think I'm … not right in the head. I have the right … to decide … how I want … to spend … what remains of my life! No one … can take … that … away … from me!" he yells as he glares at me, his breathing becoming even more labored as he becomes agitated.

He forces himself to try to take a few deep breaths, but he just can't do it. His face scrunches in pain as his arm flattens the sheet to clutch over his now visibly distended abdomen. "Fuck!" he swears, as a pained grunt escapes him.

His reaction and the pain it's causing him hits me like a bucket of cold water and I freeze, wide-eyed, trying to regroup. Rattled by his inability to catch his breath, I move toward him, wanting to do anything I can to help him. "Do you need me to—"

"I'm … all right," he pants, raising a hand to stop me, his eyebrows still drawn together as he cradles his belly.

Oh, my God, how did this go so horribly wrong? I never intended to upset him like this! "Mr. Masen, please, I'm not here because of anything you did, and I'm not here to interrogate you! Please, calm down. No one is going to take anything away from you." I take a few more tentative steps toward his bedside, my hands raised in supplication.

"I didn't mean to upset you. Please, just let me finish."

His eyes remain closed, but his breathing slows and he makes no move to object, so I take that as agreement.

"I'm a clinical psychologist here at the hospital, but I'm not here in an official capacity. Someone brought your … situation to my attention, so I came to see if you might want a little company."

"My … _situation_?"

"Yes," I reply, feigning a calmness I don't really feel. "Your cancer is terminal, and you've been here for a week and have had no visitors."

"Is that a crime?" he retorts, his green eyes pinning me, daring me to answer.

"No, but no one should have to die alone," I state baldly.

"Everyone … dies alone."

"Yes, in the strictest sense, we do. But until that last moment, no one has to be alone, and I don't really think anyone should be."

"So that's why you're here? Pity? Or am I some sort of … psychology project?"

I sigh. "No, Mr. Masen, you're not a project, and I'm not here to pity you."

I decide to come clean. Most patients never really ask why I'm here, they're just grateful to have me, but Edward obviously needs a thorough explanation. And quite frankly, I'm rattled enough that none of my usual tactics are coming to me. "One of your nurses, Alice, is a friend of mine, and she's concerned about you. The nurses know me, and they know I've befriended certain patients, in my free time, and that I've … been there for them when they really needed someone. She asked me to come and meet you."

"What if I _want_ to die alone?" he asks, but the fire is gone from his eyes. He closes them wearily, and it occurs to me he's had as much as he can take today. In all honestly, so have I.

"I can see that you're tired, and I've upset you. I'm not going to ask you any questions, but with your permission, I'd like to come back to see you again. Think about it, please. I'm not asking anything of you other than to tolerate my company, if you're up to it. Can I come back tomorrow?"

He draws in another breath that catches before he's able to fill his lungs, and even though he isn't looking at me, I see the desperation and despair in his eyes. He's going to say no, and there's no way I can let him. I can't let him choose to be alone.

"Please?" I whisper, allowing my clinical façade to drop and tears to well in my eyes.

He closes his eyes and gently nods his head, and I turn on my heel and leave the room before my tears can fall.

As I walk down the hall, though, I start to fall apart._ Jesus Christ, what the hell just happened in there?_ I swipe at my traitor tears angrily. I can't lose my professional detachment regarding Edward. Not now—not before the work is done. I always lose it in these relationships, but usually it happens on the day the patient dies, or very close to it. Why, then, am I standing here crying on the very first day I've really talked to him? Maybe it's because Edward is different—the other patients I've befriended have been older, and at least somewhat accepting of what was happening to them. The young man I just left is unprepared and terrified. He's skittish as an unbroken colt, and it's going to be an uphill battle just to get him to let me keep him company, let alone to get him to open up about why he's giving up on whatever life he has left. And unlike the others who had no friends or family left, Edward is _choosing _to be alone.

The memories fly through my mind unbidden, and regret rises up the back of my throat like bile to choke me. I thought it had been long enough, that all this was behind me. _Oh, God, can I really handle this?_

I give myself a good shake and wrestle the memories back into the vault where I keep them. I can't let my own issues interfere with helping Edward. My father always told me that anything truly worth having requires a lot of effort to get, and anything worth doing is never easy. Getting this man to trust me and to change his mind about being alone is going to be one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but I know I have to try. For his sake, and for mine.

* * *

><p>AN: Wow! Thank you all for the fantastic response to the first chapter! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! There'll be a teaser on Thursday in my group (Shadow Fics on Facebook), and the next chapter will post on Monday. Love and hugs to Alice's White Rabbit and shellshock81 for their fantastic beta work—you guys make my words so much better!

WARNING: If you don't want to know if this story has an HEA or not, stop reading this A/N NOW. I've provided a little information below for those who need to know this, for various reasons, in order to keep on reading. If you don't need to know, then stop right here, and let the suspense lead you on!

S

P

O

I

L

E

R

I've gotten a lot of questions about my HEA promise, and also about whether Edward dies, so let's clear this up right now. No, HEA does NOT stand for Happily Ever Afterlife. That wasn't a play on words where I kill them both and they get to spend eternity happily on the other side. In the land of fan fiction, I think that major character death should have a warning. You don't have that luxury with published works, but death, particularly in this way, is a trigger for some people, and I would not spring that on you without a warning at the beginning of the story, before you get hooked. I love Edward and I would never kill him (at least, I don't think so, but certainly not in this story). This will work out, I promise, but for now I'm going to ask you to trust me, and to wait and see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Thursday, July 12, 2012**

As I push through the double doors to the oncology ward the next afternoon, Alice's face lights up as she spies me. I grin at her as I approach the nurse's station.

"So," she begins eagerly, "how are things going with Edward?"

"Well, he told me I could come back today, so at least that's something," I tell her with a smirk.

"That bad, huh?"

I nod. "We didn't get off on the right foot yesterday. He's going to be difficult, I can already tell."

"You can't give up on him. He's—"

I hold up a hand, stopping her before she can get any further. "Don't tell me anything about him, Alice."

Her jaw drops, so I hurry to explain.

"It's important that he tells me what he wants me to know, so I can see it from his perspective. I need to understand why he's given up and how he's gotten himself backed into this corner, all alone. I'm sure he has family and friends who would help him, but he's moved away from them. I need to understand why, and the only way to do that is to see it as he does. Does that make sense?"

She nods, biting her lip. "How do you know he has anyone? What if he's an orphan, or he has no close friends?"

"I'm sure he has friends or family or both because of the way he reacted when I pointed out he's had no visitors. He got so defensive he might as well have screamed, 'I'm alone because I want to be!' He's done this to himself, so he needs to be the one to tell me why he's done it."

"I just … He needs someone so badly, Bella. I wish I could do more for him, but I don't know how."

"And that's why you came to me," I point out, and she grins at me half-heartedly.

I walk around the desk and put my arm around her. "Don't worry; I'll do everything I can to be there for him. And I promise, if I need any information, I'll come to you. I'm eager to learn about him, but it has to be this way."

"I understand," she concedes. Suddenly, she narrows her eyes intuitively. "Are you okay doing this? It reminds me a lot of—"

"Don't, Alice," I say, tensing up. "It's fine. I can handle it."

"Are you sure? It's only been—"

"Yes, I'm sure. He needs my help, and I can't let him down. I can't fail him."

Her eyes probe me, so I do my best to look calm and collected, in order to convince her what I'm not even sure of—that I can, in fact, handle this. She frowns, but she lets it go. "Just keep me in the loop, okay?"

"Absolutely," I tell her, giving her a squeeze before I head down the hall.

The mask of calm I'm projecting begins to crack as I approach Edward's door, and nerves flutter in my stomach as I think back on the last twenty-four hours.

I went home last night, took a hot bath with a glass of wine, and did my very best to settle myself about Edward. He is obviously very ill, and very afraid, and I need to gain his trust as quickly as possible so I can help him get out of the dark place he's backed himself into. But it's more than that. Those few minutes in his room yesterday profoundly affected me, in a way no other encounter with a terminal patient ever has. I was literally shaking as I left the hospital, and it wasn't just because he'd scared me half to death when he couldn't breathe. It was the depth of emotion in his eyes as he'd prepared himself to tell me I couldn't come back. It hit me like a lightning bolt, and I knew in that moment I would do anything and everything to make things easier for Edward.

But I can't get involved, emotionally. It's not good for either of us—this reminds me too much of my own experiences—and it won't help him make peace with his life. I slipped up yesterday, breaking down like that, and I have to make sure I keep my distance and not let that happen again.

I woke up this morning with a much better outlook. Sure, yesterday didn't go very well, but the first day I met him I saw what a sweetheart Edward can be, when he's not feeling threatened. If yesterday had been our first meeting, I'd be really discouraged, but it wasn't. I've seen that amazing smile, and I'm going to do everything in my power to bring it back, without the morphine this time.

As it was the previous two days, Edward's door is closed. I knock and hear his call to come in, and as I slowly open the door, I catch his look of surprise. He didn't really believe I would come back today, despite what I said. I can't really tell if he's pleased or annoyed because he schools his features quickly into a look of indifference, but I know I just learned something. I'm not sure what, though.

Today, he seems to be sitting up in his bed a little straighter, although he's still lying back, allowing the mattress to support him completely. The lines around his eyes are a bit fainter, and his cheeks hold a little more color.

"Hello, Mr. Masen. May I call you Edward?" I ask as I cross the room.

"Um … sure," he answers, clearly caught off-guard.

I smile at him. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm fine," he answers quickly.

_Bullshit._ I stare back, knowing he's lying through his teeth and waiting to see if he's going to do anything about it.

His cheeks begin to color as he looks down. "Well, better than yesterday and the day before, anyway. The pain isn't as bad, and it's a little easier to breathe."

I offer another smile. "I'm glad to hear that."

He looks up at me a bit sheepishly. "I … apologize for snapping at you yesterday. I jumped all over you before you could explain, and it was rude. It's no good excuse, but I've been feeling really awful since I got here, and it's got me snapping at everyone."

"It's all right, Edward. It's hard to be nice when you're not feeling well, and you seemed to be having a really bad day yesterday. I didn't take it personally."

"Thank you. But that being said, I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay," he tells me, his eyes meeting mine for a few seconds then darting away.

"Would you mind telling me why?"

"Because I have nothing to say to you."

_Oh no, you can't get rid of me that easily. I've played this game many more times than you._ "Okay, you don't need to say anything."

That one catches him by surprise, his brilliant green eyes again finding mine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't have to say anything. I came here to keep you company, but if you don't want to talk, you don't have to. I can talk to you, or if you'd prefer, we can just sit here in silence. The point is for you not to be alone all day, not what happens while I'm here."

"I still don't think it's a good idea," he insists. "Why would you want to be here? If I'm not going to talk to you—"

"You let me worry about that. Look at it this way. You're going to be here for a while, aren't you?"

He swallows thickly, but nods his head.

"So what's the harm in spending some time with me? Have you got something more pressing to do?"

"No—"

"So if you've got nothing better to do, and I'm not asking anything of you, then what's the problem? Do you find me that distasteful?"

"No, of course not," he says in a rush, blushing fiercely. "I just … I want to be left alone."

His statement breaks my heart, but I know I almost have him. I hate myself for what I'm about to do, but it's necessary. "Well, you've pretty much gotten your wish since no one has come to visit you."

He flinches, and my heart breaks a little more, but driving it home is my best chance to get him to see where he's put himself and to realize he needs me. His eyes are hard as he stares at me, and I can tell I've hit a nerve, but in this case, it's a good thing.

"Just give it a try today, please? Let me hang around for a while. I promise I won't ask you any questions, and if I bore you to tears, you can tell me not to come back, okay?"

"Suit yourself," he responds noncommittally, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

I've definitely pissed him off, but at least he isn't still asking me to leave. _Thank goodness._

I sit, gathering myself for the next phase of my plan, and my eyes stray to Edward. His own eyes are closed, so I take a few moments to really look at him. I was tempted to google his diagnosis last night, but I was afraid what I'd find, and I want him to eventually tell me himself anyway. So for now, all I have to go on is what I see.

As I stare at him, my heart wants only to see the beauty there—the strong line of his jaw, the soft stubble clinging to his cheeks, and amazing bronze and brown hair scattered in an unruly mop on his head—but instead I force my mind to see the signs of his disease.

He's obviously underweight—at least thirty pounds from where he should be. I note again the hollows in his cheeks, and the thinness of his fingers as they lay on top of the blankets. The lymph nodes in his neck are swollen, and he swallows with an effort around their volume. Although clearly better than yesterday, his breathing is still rapid and shallow.

My eyes scan down over his chest, and land squarely on the obvious roundness of his belly. I hadn't noticed it at all the first day, and yesterday I only saw it when he clutched at his stomach, flattening the blanket against the bulge there. I wonder what the cause is.

Other than the IV in his right arm, he isn't hooked up to any machinery, and I hope this is a good sign. He's very weak, though. His every motion looks as if it costs him a large amount of effort, and I have yet to see him raise his head from the pillow supporting him.

Edward winces as he reaches across his body to scratch his right forearm, and as he does so, his sleeve rides up to reveal a bright red rash that covers his skin. His eyes pop open, and he follows my gaze to his arm, quickly grabbing the cuff of his pajama shirt and dragging it back down to his wrist. "Are you just going to stare at me?" he snaps.

_Shit_. "I wasn't … No, I would much rather talk to you," I answer, recovering my composure. "Do you mind if I talk for a bit?"

"Whatever," he huffs, closing his eyes again.

_Time to get this show on the road_.

"Well, since I'm hoping we'll be friends, I might as well tell you a little bit about me. My name is Bella Swan, and I'm thirty-two. I've worked here at the hospital for six years as a clinical psychologist. I work with a variety of patients, but I specialize in helping patients deal with difficult diagnoses and in helping surviving family members cope with the loss of a loved one.

"I grew up in Forks, Washington, which is a tiny town about three and a half hours west of here, almost right on the coast. In fact, you can drive to the beach from there in about fifteen minutes. I was born there and lived there with my dad until I went to college at the University of Washington. I don't have any brothers or sisters.

"I was a good student in school, and when I was in college, I decided I was really interested in relationships and in how people respond to one another. A good friend turned me on to psychology, and it became my passion. I did my bachelor's at U Dub, and then I went to Berkeley and got my clinical doctorate. I love Washington, and the Seattle area in particular, so I decided to come back here to practice."

I prattle on a while longer, talking about what I do here at the hospital, but keeping the details to a minimum. I watch Edward carefully, and I can tell he's relaxing a bit and getting used to the sound of my voice. He's following along, too. If I pause for more than what he considers the appropriate amount of time, his eyes open and he shoots a glance my way. I have his attention, whether he wants to admit it or not.

Eventually, his responses to my pauses become slower, and I know he's getting tired. I finish what I'm saying and pause, and this time when he checks on me, I meet his gaze.

"Well, I think I've talked your ear off enough for one day. You seemed interested, though. Can I come back tomorrow and bore you with the really interesting details, like the time I locked myself in a moving police cruiser, and how I managed to lose the state title game in basketball for my high school?"

He stares at me, betraying nothing.

"Come on, you know you want to know how I met Alice, and why the nurses all call me 'Ballsy Bella'."

His eyebrows rise at that one, and he can't hide the hint of a grin that touches his lips.

"Can I come back, please?"

"I guess," he says grudgingly.

"Good, then I'll see you at the same time tomorrow," I tell him, waiting until I've turned my back to let the smug grin spread across my face.

* * *

><p>AN: I've been looking at my work schedule for the next two weeks, and Monday posting just isn't going to work. So, you get an early update this week and next!

Thank you all for reading! I'm amazed at the response this story has gotten so far, including being featured at the International House of FanFic on Friday as "One to Watch" (there's a link in my author profile, if you're interested). I hope you continue to enjoy it—drop me a line and let me know you're out there!

No teaser in my group this week, but that's because I'm going to post two chapters next week, since Chapter 4 is pretty short. Postings will be Sunday and Thursday, with a teaser for Chapter 5 in my group on Tuesday. Have a good week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Friday, July 13, 2012**

I knock on Edward's door, slowly opening it at the same time because it's damn near impossible to hear him call for me to come in from across the room. As the door makes its now-familiar creak, Edward opens his eyes and today they are bright green and glassy. It's not the same as the first day, though, when he looked almost drunk under the effects of the morphine. This is completely different. His gaze looks almost vacant—it reminds me of the way a small child looks when they have a high fever. Whatever it is, he's obviously having a worse day than yesterday.

"Hello, Edward. How are you feeling today?" I ask, sitting down in the chair beside him.

"Not that great," he mumbles, staring off into the space just over my left shoulder.

_Oh damn, he's_ really _not having a good day. _"I'm sorry to hear that. I won't stay very long then. I just wanted to see how you were and keep you company for a little while. Is that all right?"

"Yeah," he breathes, his eyes slowly closing.

"Well, I promised you some stories from my childhood, so I'll tell you at least one today before I go.

"I told you yesterday that I grew up in the little town of Forks with my dad, but what I didn't mention is that he's the town police chief. There are only two other officers under his command, and it was very relaxed, being in a small town, so I spent a lot of my time growing up at the police station.

"Before I started school, he would take me to the station for whole days when I wasn't staying with my grandmother, and I would spend my time kneeling on a chair at one of those old metal desks that was way too big for me, coloring pictures or playing with dolls or spinning in the office chair until I got in trouble.

"Well, one day, I got it in my head that I wanted to play taxicab, and for that, I needed a car. I knew taxis had a partition between the front seat and the backseat, and I happened to notice that the squad cars did too, so my dad's police car would be perfect!

"While he and his deputies were making us lunch, I went out to the garage and climbed into his squad car. My taxi needed a sign to let passengers know I was available, so I stood on the seat and turned on the siren lights, like my dad sometimes let me do. Dad also taught me to be safe, so I locked all the doors. When I collected my first imaginary fare, I pulled the little lever on the steering wheel to record it, and the next thing I knew the car was rolling out of the garage and down the street!"

As I finish what I'm saying, glittering green eyes meet mine and stay with me for the rest of my story.

"My dad figured out where I was about the time I rolled from the garage onto the road, and he and the two deputies started chasing the car down the street. I remember waving to him as he came up beside me, but I'd locked the doors, so he couldn't get in to stop the car. Eventually, I rolled up a little hill, and they were able to get in front of the car and stop it. It happened to stop right in front of the town newspaper office, and of course, I had already drawn a crowd, so one of the reporters came out and snapped a picture of me behind the wheel.

"After my dad got done hugging me and making sure I was okay, I got the lecture of a lifetime, and he took away my favorite doll. But that was nothing compared to how angry he was the next day when the front page of the local paper had my picture with the headline, 'Chief's daughter takes joyride'".

Edward huffs out a breath and the corners of his mouth rise in a small smile.

Warmth fills my chest as I see his reaction. I didn't think I'd get anything out of him today, but even though he's obviously feeling like shit, he still made the effort to smile at me. I can't help but smile in return.

"Even though I got in bigger trouble later on, I'll always remember that day as the one when I saw his face go the reddest. It took him a _long_ time to live that one down in town, and every once in a while he'll still pull out the newspaper and say, 'Do you see what you put me through?'"

"You were lucky the car didn't hit anything," Edward whispers, closing his eyes again.

"Yes, I really was. I was also lucky my dad wasn't armed when he stopped the car, that the street was crowded with people, and that I was a cute kid. He always told me that's why kids are cute—so their parents don't kill them when they mess up."

Edward smiles again, but this time his eyes stay closed. I want to spend more time with him, but I know he's going to fall asleep as soon as I'm quiet. And there is always tomorrow—I pull up short, because for Edward, that certainly isn't true. But there's nothing more I can do today.

"Edward, I'm going to let you rest, since I know you're not having a good day. Can I come back tomorrow and tell you more stories?"

"Yeah," he says so quietly I barely hear him. I want to reach over and brush the hair from his forehead so badly, to cup my hand to his cheek and tell him everything will be okay, but I don't do either. He's listening to me, and that's step one. I will have to content myself with that for now.

I get up very quietly and tiptoe from the room, sure that Edward is asleep before I close the door.

* * *

><p>AN: Short chapter today—we're going to be going day by day with these two for a while, because for the terminally ill every day can be radically different. The chapters will get progressively longer, though, as they spend more time together and circumstances begin to change. But since this one was so short, I'm going to post the next one on Thursday, with a teaser in my group for it on Tuesday. Thank you all for reading, and reviewing!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Saturday, July 14, 2012**

The next afternoon, I arrive at the usual time, and as I open the door, Edward's eyebrows disappear beneath the longish hair on his forehead. He looks much better today—his eyes are clear and bright, and he meets my gaze instantly.

"You're here," he stammers.

"Well, I said I'd come today, didn't I?" I answer, as if this is obvious.

"But, it's the weekend."

"So it is. Does that mean I shouldn't be here?"

"I just thought …" he trails off, looking down and away.

"I told you I'm not here because you're my patient, but I'm getting the impression you don't quite believe me."

At least he has the decency to look a little sheepish as I say it, but I want to drive the point home even further.

"Do you get the weekend off from being sick?"

"No," he answers scornfully.

"Well, then I don't get the weekend off from being your friend."

He shoots me a glance that is equal parts confusion and gratitude, but he says nothing. _Heheh, score one for me!_

"So, how was your day today?" I ask, but before he can answer, I correct myself. "Oops, but I said I wouldn't ask you any questions. My apologies."

A furrow appears in his brow, but he stays silent, looking past me and out the window.

He probably would have answered me, but I still want to play by his rules for now, and let him know I'm playing by his rules.

"My day was pretty boring. I did laundry this morning, cleaned up my apartment, then spent the afternoon on the couch in front of the TV. There is _nothing_ worth watching on a Saturday afternoon; unless, of course, you're into reruns of the week's reality shows or movies from the fifties."

He smirks at me, and I start to get the idea he wants to comment, but he's not letting himself. So, I guess it's time to sing for my supper … again.

"Well, what shall I tell you about today? I know I mentioned something about high school, but who really wants to go back there after they've finished, right? I sure don't.

"So, how about if I tell you how I met Alice? You know, the little dark-haired ray of sunshine who's one of your nurses? She's always been that way—hyperactive and perpetually cheerful.

"I got to UDub and I was this quiet, serious, introverted girl, and into my dorm room bounds this crazy extrovert who just wants to go out and party! She took one look at me and said, 'Oh, we have to get you loosened up!' You'd never know she was such a party girl to look at her now. She's toned it down a lot so now it only seems like she's drinking Red Bull instead of injecting it."

Edward chuckles softly, laying an arm across his swollen belly.

"She got me in so much trouble in college! She was always trying to get me to go out, particularly on Thursday nights, and I always had tests on Fridays. I would go to the library to hide from her, but somehow she'd always manage to find me and drag me downtown with her. It's a wonder I passed any of my undergrad classes.

"She introduced me to all the vices we could get our hands on—cigarettes, alcohol, weed—"

Edward's eyebrows rise.

_Yes, I smoked weed—a good bit of it during college, in fact. Don't I look like the type to you?_

"She even tried to get me to join a sorority. She made it in, and I didn't, but she stayed and lived with me anyway instead of moving in to the sorority house. We partied our way through our first two years, but eventually, she got serious. She's really smart, so it didn't take much for her to ace a few classes and get accepted into the nursing program. We still went out a lot, but by junior year, she was studying more too, and it helped us to be even closer friends.

"When we graduated, I went to Berkeley and she went on to get a Master's in Nursing at UDub; she worked at a few other hospitals in the area before coming here. We stayed in touch, but just barely. In fact, I moved to Seattle and started working here and she didn't even know it until we ran into each other in the hallway.

"Things seemed to pick up just where we left off, and we've stayed close friends ever since. She's always there when I need to talk, and we take care of each other."

I risk a glance over at Edward, and he's staring out the window with a wistful look in his eyes—the kind of look you get when you miss or regret something. He catches me staring and shifts his gaze downward, setting his jaw firmly and narrowing his eyes a bit. I didn't talk about Alice as a way to get a reaction from him, but it seems to have done the job anyway. _Who is it he's longing for?_

"Well, enough about Alice. What else can I tell you about me? My dad used to take me fishing as a kid, so I'm not one of those girly girls who's afraid of breaking a nail. While my middle school girlfriends were painting their nails, I was putting worms on hooks and cleaning my dad's catches. On the weekends, we'd drive up to Lake Pleasant or Lake Crescent, and he'd take me out on the boat with him. But my favorite part was the end of the day when he was cleaning his fishing gear. I used to love to go and lie on the boat dock and watch the little waves on the lake. If I was really lucky, it'd be sunny, and I'd watch the sun glint off the water. It was just so beautiful and peaceful."

I stare off into space for a few moments, living in the memories, and when I come back to myself I find Edward watching me with a peculiar look in his eyes. It's a look of … understanding. He gets it. He has a special place, or something he does—something that makes him feel the way I'm feeling right now. Something that makes him feel in harmony with the world around him. Somehow, he looks surprised I've shared this. Maybe we have more in common than he thought. I grin at him, and he startles a bit, looking away awkwardly. It seems we're both learning a lot about each other today, even if only one of us is speaking.

I continue on, telling him how I like to read spy novels and that my guilty pleasure in my spare time is knitting, even though it makes me seem like a grandma. _Seattle is cold and rainy, dammit! You can never have too many afghans, woolen socks, scarves, and hats!_ He listens thoughtfully as I tell him all about me, but he never says a word.

Despite what I've told him about not being here to counsel him, I know at least some part of him is still waiting for me to spring some sort of trap on him—I can see it in his eyes. His guard is firmly up, and until I can convince him I'm only here because I want to be, it's going to stay that way.

By the time it's almost time for me to go, I find myself telling him about my other guilty pleasure: football.

"I love the Seahawks. Growing up in the wonderful state of Washington, my father was a Seahawks fan, and trying to be Daddy's girl, I'd watch the games with him. When I finally was out on my own, I tried to convince myself I didn't care, but dammit if I didn't manage to find a way to watch all their games anyway. When I admitted to my dad that I was a Seahawks fan in my own right, I don't think I'd ever seen him look prouder. He told me that my love of the Seahawks was the best thing he'd passed on to me, hands down."

Edward chuckles, but he cuts off quickly and draws in a sharp breath, wrapping an arm around his distended belly. He holds his breath until the pain subsides, letting it out slowly as his muscles relax. His voice is raspy as he breaks the silence he's been keeping all afternoon. "They say laughter is the best medicine, but that really fucking hurt!"

"Why does it hurt so much?" I ask casually. It's the first real question I've asked him in three days—since I told him I wouldn't ask him any questions.

He looks at me pointedly for a moment, as if to let me know he's on to what I'm doing, but he's going to allow it. "My liver and spleen are enlarged, and I have too much fluid in my belly. It's caused by the cancer; it's pretty painful and can make it hard to breathe. Don't you already know all this?"

_Wow. Here we go with the suspicion and the attitude again._ It's as if talking a bit about his illness reminded him that I'm the enemy. "No, I don't," I reply calmly. "Why would I?"

"Because you work here. I'm sure the first thing you did was go over my chart."

"Not at all." I meet his gaze so he'll see the truth in my eyes. "I keep telling you, I'm not here in an official capacity. I don't know anything about you—well, Alice told me your name, age, and diagnosis, but that's all."

"Even if you're not here officially, I'm sure Alice would have given you my chart," he presses.

"No, since you're not my patient, she can't do that. But even if she could or would have given it to me, I wouldn't want it."

"Why?" he asks, looking truly confused.

"Because I don't want to take away your choice in the matter. I came here to be your friend, and a friend would only know what you tell them."

The look he gives me is unreadable, but I can see the wheels turning behind those bright green eyes. _Score two for me! I'm on a roll today!_ Suddenly, he looks away, staring at the floor on the other side of the bed.

I debate whether to go further, but I don't want to press my luck, and I know he has some things to think about. "I should get going. It's getting late and you must be getting tired. Can I come back tomorrow?"

His eyes meet mine and his teeth latch on to his bottom lip for a moment, but he releases it fairly quickly.

"Yes."

* * *

><p>AN: Aww … I'm THRILLED that you guys are loving Bella's compassion, and the way she handles Edward's … reluctance. Information on Edward is coming, but he doesn't make it easy, does he? She's given him some food for thought today. You're gonna love him when you find out more about him, though, or perhaps you already do? Tell me in that little box down there!

Teaser in my group on Saturday, and Chapter 6 on Monday.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Sunday, July 15, 2012**

"Hello, Edward," I say cheerfully as I walk into his room. Even though it's Sunday, he doesn't look surprised to see me. I guess he believed me yesterday about not having days off from spending time with him.

He looks at me but quickly bows his head. "Hi, Bella."

"What's the matter?"

"I think I owe you another apology," he admits, staring down at the white blanket that covers him.

I wait, not disagreeing with him.

His fingers play idly over the lattice pattern of the cotton. "I don't know why you keep coming back. I'm still snapping at you and assuming you have an ulterior motive for being here, and yet all you've been is kind to me, and you've shown nothing but respect for my feelings. I don't know what to make of you."

His complete honesty takes me by surprise, and I have to bite my lip to keep the smile off my face. Wow. We're finally starting to get somewhere. "Well, couldn't it just be that I'm a nice person? That I'm here with no strings attached?"

He shrugs his shoulders, but winces as he does so. I wonder if there is any movement that doesn't cause him pain.

"So, what shall we talk about today?" I say rhetorically, and he surprises me again by actually answering.

"What happened to your mother?"

Obviously, he's been paying pretty close attention over the last few days and noticed all of the stories I've told revolved around my father. "Edward," I say, unable to keep the smile off my face. "Did you just ask me a question?"

He grins wryly as the realization dawns on him. My answer is going to cost him something. I hold my breath as I wait to see if he'll take the bait.

He seems to think about it for a moment then sighs in defeat. "Yes, I guess I did."

"Well, in that case, I'll make you a deal. I'll answer your question, if you'll answer one of mine."

His eyes harden just a little, so I hasten to clarify. "I won't ask one that I think you won't want to answer. I'll ask one that gives me a little more information about you. The kind of question a friend would ask. Fair enough?"

He starts to chuckle, but stops abruptly as he winces, shaking his head instead. "Okay, you first."

"All right. My mother left us when I was six years old. She wasn't exactly … cut out to be a parent, and it pushed my parents' relationship to the breaking point."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"Sometimes," I reply quietly, not offering to elaborate. I close my eyes to block out the picture of her in my head—the last time I did see her. My answer is purposefully vague, and it's all I'm willing to give.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his green eyes turning soft and warm.

"It was a long time ago," I say, still lost in my memories, but I shake my head to clear it. "Dad was more than enough to make up for losing her. "So, is it my turn now?"

"I suppose," he concedes, but I can tell he's nervous.

I intend to keep my promise, though, and not ask any of the things I really want to know. That will have to come later. "How did you end up here?"

He blanches at the question. _Shit._ _That didn't come out right._ He thinks I'm asking for his life story.

"That's not a question I'm going to answer," he responds shortly.

_Damage control!_ I need to approach from another direction. "What I mean is, when were you diagnosed, and will you tell me exactly what's wrong with you?"

"That's two questions," he points out.

Damn, if he isn't going to make this as difficult as possible.

"All right, so it is two questions, but you may well have told me when you were diagnosed if you answered the question about what's wrong with you. And honestly, I've told you my whole life story. Don't I deserve maybe a little latitude here? It's not truly a personal question. If we were both inmates in a prison and I asked 'What are you in for?' Would you consider that too personal?"

He can't hide the smirk on his face. "You're good at what you do; do you know that?"

"I just make rational arguments," I say glibly, but inside, I'm beaming at the compliment.

"I can't argue that," he concedes. "Okay then. I was diagnosed with Stage IIB Angioimmunoblastic T-cell Lymphoma just over two years ago. I had been having unexplained fevers and night sweats for weeks, and I was losing weight. Finally, when my lymph nodes swelled up, they did a biopsy and discovered the cancer.

"I had chemotherapy and went into remission, and that lasted a year. Then I started having symptoms again, and I was diagnosed with Stage III B. I had chemo again, and the next remission lasted six months. Two months ago, I was diagnosed with Stage IV B, since the cancer's now in my bone marrow, and I was given up to six months to live with no further treatment.

"I had been doing okay, but my immune system is shot, and I ended up getting an infection in my blood. I thought it was just one of the fevers caused by the cancer, but it was so high, then I started vomiting. I … had decided just to stay at home, but I must have called 9-1-1 when I was delirious because I ended up here.

"So now I'm on IV antibiotics for a month to try to clear up the infection. I don't know why they're bothering, really. If it's not this, it'll just be something else in a few weeks."

He tries to speak with no emotion, but I hear the quaver in his voice as he gets to the end of his little speech. _Fuck._ Does he really have that little time left? I've been treating this as a bit of a game trying to get him to talk to me, trying to keep my distance, but suddenly, I realize this game is deadly serious, and the clock is running. I'm desperate to ask him where his family is, and if anyone was with him through his chemo, but I know he's not ready to tell me. I'll have to wait until the time is right, but I don't have a lot of time to work with. So I try just one more question, so I can at least get an insight into his current state of mind.

"What symptoms do you have now?"

He narrows his eyes at me.

"Well, I can probably guess most of them from what you've already said, so what's the harm in telling me? To my mind, this still falls under 'What are you in for?'"

I hold my breath as I wait to see if he'll answer. Knowing what he's experiencing is key to figuring out why he's giving up and not fighting for every day he has left.

His lips twist into a sour-looking smile. "Okay. You're probably the only person on the planet who's interested in hearing this, but if it'll answer your question to your satisfaction, then I'm game. I still get fevers and night sweats, and most of my lymph nodes are swollen and painful, particularly my neck, under my arms, and um … down south," he says bashfully. "My spleen and liver are enlarged and painful, and I have a buildup of fluid in my belly. The cancer also causes joint pain and … a rash that makes me itchy, pretty much all over. And I'm just exhausted all the fucking time. I think that's everything," he concludes, as if he's just rattled off some sort of laundry list.

_Oh, God._ I sit there speechless for a moment, trying to get my roiling emotions under control. I can't let him see me react to what he's just said the way I feel like doing. The way I know I shouldn't feel like doing. Why is this affecting me so much? I've dealt with this and worse, many times before, but for some reason the thought of Edward going through this is making me nauseous.

I want to cry, to scream at the unfairness of it all, because it's truly a crime of nature that anyone should have to suffer like this, particularly someone so young. But none of that will help him. I can't get emotionally involved right now. He needs my strength and my help in sorting out his own feelings. I can't complicate the situation by adding my own emotions to the mix.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, trying to fill my gaze with compassion and not pity.

I think he understands, because he ducks his chin and mutters a quiet, "Thanks."

Because he asked about her, today I tell him the few stories I remember about my mother from before she left us. They are things I've never really shared with anyone because my dad never wants to talk about her, and no one has ever really asked me. They're sweet memories, like her reading stories to me at bedtime and kissing boo boos after I fell. They make no sense in the face of the anger I feel because of everything that happened after, but we don't really get a say in what we remember.

After an hour, Edward's eyes are drifting closed, so I decide we should call it a day. "I think I should go, Edward. You're falling asleep."

He slowly turns his head toward me, barely opening his eyes. "Are you coming … back tomorrow?" he whispers, nearly asleep.

He doesn't see, but I smile so widely that I think my cheeks might split. This is the first time I didn't have to ask him if I _could _come back, and I feel a flutter of warmth in my chest. _Dammit._ "Yes, Edward. I'll be back tomorrow."

"'kay," he sighs, falling headlong into sleep.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed this one—some good things happened here. Thank you to bornonhalloween and Edward's Eternal for the recs this week—you guys rock! Lots of new readers and feedback!

I'll post chapter seven on Thursday, because it's a short (but important) one, and I hate posting something short and then making you guys wait a week. So Thursday, and then as always, on Monday.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Monday, July 16, 2012**

As I make my way out of my office, I find myself looking forward to spending time with Edward. Yesterday, I didn't have to work so hard; he did some of the talking and answered a question I asked him, and when I left, he actually asked _me_ if I was coming back. I feel like I'm really starting to get somewhere with him, and I hope today will be even better.

When I knock on his door, there's no response, so I open it slowly, wondering if he's asleep. My mouth falls open the moment I lay eyes on him. He's lying there, eyes closed, shaking from head to toe. Panic grips me.

"Edward!"

His eyes shoot open as he startles, but he stares into space for a moment before they find me, and the look he gives me is dazed and vacant.

"I'm all r-r-right," he manages to get out as shivers wrack his frame. "J-just c-c-cold."

I take a deep breath as the panic recedes—I thought he was having a seizure! My chest tightens and tears sting my eyes as I hear his teeth chattering. "Here, let me get you another blanket," I offer, already walking to the small cart on the other side of the room.

I pull out another woven white blanket identical to the one that covers him, and as I turn around, I try to hide my shaking hands as I unfold it. These damn hospital blankets are horrible—I don't know how they keep anyone warm. I gently cover him with it, tucking it in closely around his legs and covering his arms as well. As I bring it up to his chin, my mothering instincts take over, and I put a hand to his forehead. I'm shocked by the heat I feel there. "Edward, you're burning up!"

"It's n-nothing n-new," he explains, opening his fever-bright eyes again to look at me. "The n-nurses know. It's a s-symptom of the c-c-cancer, l-l-like I told you. I'm f-feverish more often than n-not."

I've been coming here for almost a week, and I'm pretty sure he's been feverish at least two of those days, and I have no idea what's happening when I'm not here. The snapshot I'm getting in the hour or so a day I've been visiting doesn't begin to give a complete picture of how things really are for him. I swallow thickly as my stomach does a nervous flip.

As I lift my hand, I can't help but smooth the hair back from his clammy forehead. I need to touch him. I need to do something to make him feel better. I know I shouldn't, but today? Today I honestly don't give a fuck. He leans into the touch, so I do it again. It's nothing intimate, I tell myself—just simple human comfort, and he needs it so very badly right now.

"You d-d-don't have to do th-that," he stutters, wincing a bit and pulling his chin away. He's still shivering violently; it has to be causing him pain.

"I want to, if you'll let me. Maybe it will distract you," I offer, continuing to run my fingers through his unruly locks.

He looks like he wants to argue, but he just doesn't have it in him today. He closes his eyes and cocks his head to the side a little, relishing the touch.

I continue my ministrations, and after a few minutes, his shivers seem to become less violent. After a few more, they stop altogether, and his breathing evens out into sleep.

_What the hell am I doing? _I've touched patients before. Touch is one of the most powerful ways to offer comfort, and I have no problem with that. The problem is I think I'm comforting _me_ just as much as I'm comforting him. Why is everything so much more intense with Edward? Is it because he's so young? Is it something else? I shake my head, but make no effort to stop. His hair is so soft—like duck down. I wonder if he lost it all during his last round of chemo, and the fact that it's new makes the texture as soft as it is.

I sigh as I continue running my fingers through his hair. He was doing so well these last few days. He was still short of breath, but it seemed at least a little better, and I almost forgot how sick he is as I told him so many stories from my life. I think back to the elderly terminal patients I've befriended, and how they had good days and bad days toward the end, and I realize that before long, Edward will come to that point, if he isn't already there.

And it's a point of no return.

I close my eyes and vow to get him to answer another question for me tomorrow, so I can help him move a little bit closer to being ready to let go.

* * *

><p>AN: Another short one, I know, but it was necessary, and this is the last short one for a good long while. Thank you all for your fabulous reviews, and for sharing your stories with me-your words warm my heart, and it always makes you feel better when you share. Chapter 8 will post on Monday.

I asked a question over in Shadow Fics this week, and I'm going to repeat it here. So ... as you might imagine, there are going to be some rough chapters in Come Back Tomorrow. There are at least four in particular that may require tissues and a quiet, uninterrupted read.

So my question is, would it be good to put an author's note on these at the beginning of the chapter, so you know in advance that they are, IMHO, the most difficult reads? Or would you rather not know, and just read? I'm thinking majority rules here, so let me know what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks to everyone who responded to my question. So, most of you are saying to put a warning at the beginning of the difficult chapters, but some of you are rather vehemently against it. So, I propose a compromise:

I won't post anything at the beginning of any of the chapters (after this note), but if it's a difficult one, I will add the following as the first line of my A/N at the end: Warning: You may need a quiet place to read.

That way, those who really want to know can quickly check the A/N and be prepared, and those who don't can read normally and not be disturbed. Hopefully, this will satisfy everyone's needs. Also, I don't plan to abuse this. I can count on one hand how many chapters I intend to flag, unless the reviews convince me otherwise as the story unfolds. This is an angsty story, and you all knew that from the get-go, so I'm only going to flag the most intense chapters.

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

**Tuesday, July 17, 2012**

When I push Edward's door open, I can immediately tell something is very wrong. His eyes meet mine, and they no longer have the fever brightness and glassiness they held yesterday, but today he's wearing a nasal cannula and having a very hard time breathing.

Panic shoots down my spine as I hurry over to him. "Edward, are you all right? Do you need me to call someone?"

He shakes his head slowly as he struggles to draw breath.

As I watch, it's as if he doesn't exhale at all, he only inhales in ridiculously short spurts. "What is it? Can you tell me?"

"The … fluid," he pants, changing his breaths to exhale each word separately. He places his hand on his distended belly; it's even more bloated than it was the day before. "Needs … to … be … drained."

_Oh, God, this is an elective procedure. He can refuse to let them do it._ With a thrill of fear I realize that this could be it right here. I haven't gotten far enough with him yet to get him to open up to me, and if he chooses to, he can suffocate right before my very eyes since he has a DNR in place. _No,_ dammit, _no_! _I need more time!_

"Edward, are they planning to drain it? Did you agree to the procedure?" I try to keep the panic out of my voice, but my words are rapid and high-pitched.

"Yes … don't … want … to … die … this … way," he pants, fear shining in his eyes.

_Oh, thank God! _"Hang on; I'll be right back," I tell him as I whirl around and almost run from the room.

Alice is standing at the nurse's station, and I yell to her as I stride down the hall. "Alice! What's going on with Edward? He's so short of breath he's starting to panic!"

"Shit!" she swears as she picks up the phone, angrily punching a few numbers. "I've been waiting for over an hour for the damn chief resident to get his ass up here to do the procedure! I asked Edward to buzz me if it got any worse!"

"It's worse," I respond shortly. I sincerely hope that if I hadn't come in, Edward would have called for Alice.

"Go keep him company until I get this sorted," she orders, drumming her fingers on the counter as she waits for a response to her page.

I spin around and go back to his room, and thankfully, things are mostly as I left them, except Edward's eyes look a little wider with panic. "Alice and the chief resident are coming. They're going to drain the fluid right away."

"Thank … you," he gasps, his hands balling into fists as he fights for each breath.

I desperately want to touch him, to offer comfort in any way I can, but we just aren't to that point yet. I touched him yesterday to calm him, but I don't even know if he remembers, and now isn't exactly the right time to ask. I don't want to cause him any more stress, so I just stand there helplessly, watching him struggle more desperately as the minutes tick by.

After what feels like an eternity, Alice and the chief finally walk in. As Alice's eyes meet Edward's panic-stricken ones, she gasps and the color drains from her face.

"Oh, Edward, you should have called me sooner! I know I checked on you an hour ago, but this got bad really fast!"

The chief resident goes right over to Edward. "We need to do this procedure immediately, so I'm going to give you the brief explanation, okay?"

Edward nods his head as his breathing becomes even more erratic.

"We're going to numb your skin, and insert a large needle to draw out the fluid. You'll barely feel anything, but I'm going to need you to stay as still as possible. I know that's going to be difficult, but I need you to try. We're going to need you lying flat for the procedure. Will Miss … Swan be staying?" he asks, glancing at my tag and nodding to me.

Edward looks down at his swollen belly, then turns his eyes to me, and the full-blown panic I see there galvanizes me into action. "Edward, you're terrified. I can see it in your eyes. I promise I won't look at you if you don't want me to, just let me help you get through this, all right? Let me help you focus so the chief can do his job. _Please_." _Please, please let me stay!_

He nods as his breathing turns into gasps, and I step forward and grasp his hand between both of mine.

As Alice lowers his bed, his eyes grow even wider and he grips my hands firmly. I don't even understand how he's still conscious because it doesn't sound as if he's taking in any air at all. I swallow hard, trying to get back some composure, and I do the only thing I _can_ do. I talk to him.

"Edward, look at me," I command, and his terrified eyes snap to mine. "Everything is going to be all right. Just look at me and listen to the sound of my voice. You're going to get through this. Just stay as still as you can, and don't think about breathing. Think about whatever makes you happiest, and try to stay there for the next few minutes. I'll be right here. I've got you. Stay with me and everything will be okay."

For the rest of my life I will never forget the look in his eyes as he hangs on my every word, as if his very life depends on it, and it nearly does. Both of us are oblivious as Alice and the chief prep him for the procedure. He winces as Alice delivers the local anesthetic, but he never looks away from my eyes. I continue soothing him softly until the chief interrupts me.

"Now is when I need you to stay very still, Edward."

Edward cries out and grips my hands even tighter as the chief inserts the larger gauge needle, and both of our eyes are drawn to the chief's fingers as he attaches a large syringe to the needle he just inserted. I nearly gasp as I look at how distended Edward's belly is. He has always shielded it with the blankets that cover him, but with only the surgical drape over it, I can see the full extent of the problem that has caused this crisis. If he were a woman, I would have thought he was carrying twins. The same bright red rash I saw on his arms also covers his torso, looking angry and inflamed. _Oh, Edward._

"I'm … gonna … be … sick," he forces out.

I look around for a basin or something, but my eyes snap to Alice as she starts to speak.

"He can't do that now!" she exclaims, her eyes wide. She's unable to move from the other side of the bed because she's holding the ultrasound wand in place so the chief can see where he's drawing the fluid from.

I grab Edward's chin and raise it so he has to look at me. "No, you're not. You can't be sick right now or it will mess up the procedure. Just look at me and breathe as slowly as you can. You can get through this. Don't look at what they're doing; look right here." I free one of my hands and bring it up to stroke his cheek. "Feel me touching you and concentrate on that. Close your eyes if you need to, but just feel my touch on your skin, and don't think about anything else."

His eyes close as he swallows loudly. Over the next few minutes, I can tell he's making an effort to slow his breathing, and for the first time today, it's actually working. My own breathing starts to slow as well. I continue to stroke his cheekbone, but since his eyes are closed, I look over my shoulder to see how things are going. Edward's belly is noticeably smaller. It has gone from a full-term pregnancy all the way down to a small potbelly, and I can easily see the reason. There are at least three liters of fluid in the vacuum bottle on the floor. I choke back the sob that threatens to escape.

As I look back over at him, he opens his eyes very slowly. He's beyond exhausted, but the panic is gone, and his breathing is slow and regular. I move my hand up to stroke his hair back, and as he did the day before, he leans into my touch. He closes his eyes again wearily.

There's a flurry of motion at my side, and I realize the chief is removing the needle and dressing the puncture wound. Alice has shut down the ultrasound, and she's cleaning up the equipment from the procedure.

"You did it," I whisper. "The doctor is all done, and you can rest now."

His eyelids flutter, but he's so wiped out he can't even lift them. He squeezes my hand gently, and as he surrenders to sleep, the sound of his deep, even breathing is music to my ears.

Taking a deep breath of my own, I slowly disentangle my shaking fingers from his and place his hand on the mattress. I need to leave this room _right_ _now_, before I fall apart.

I make it as far as the hallway outside his door before I have to lean up against the wall as my knees buckle. I slide slowly down the surface until I'm curled in a ball, my knees hugged tightly to my chest. I'm hyperventilating; all I can think about is how close I came to losing him today. I can't lose him. I just can't. Not like this, not before I can help him. _No!_

A few minutes later, or maybe it's a long time, I feel Alice pull me into her arms.

"It's okay," she soothes. "You did fantastic. You really helped him through today."

"Oh, Alice, I don't know if I can do it this time! I'm so … God, I don't know what I am, but it's totally different from any of the other times I've done this. I can't bear to watch him go through this! How do I help him when I feel like I need help myself?" I run my fingers into my hair and sit there with my head bowed, trying to pull myself back together.

"Oh, honey, you care about him, just like I do. You've lost your detachment, and you need support too," Alice explains, giving me a squeeze.

I turn my head to grin wryly at her. "Who's the psychologist here?"

She snorts a laugh, shaking her head. "You know I'm right."

"Yes, goddammit, you're right, but how the hell did I get so attached in only a week? He hasn't even told me why he's alone yet, and already I feel more bound to him than I have to any of the other patients I've helped."

She shrugs. "Now you know why I came to see you. I don't know how he does it, but he did it to me too. There's something special about him. Something that shouldn't be leaving this world so soon."

Her words send a chill down my spine; she's right, as usual. Edward_ is_ special, and I'm sure I don't even know the half of it yet. But I have to find out. Soon.

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><p>AN:

Warning: You may need a quiet place to read.

So, this is the first real taste of angst in this story—are you all still with me? I flagged this chapter for that reason: to test the waters and see how everyone handled it. Teaser in Shadow Fics on Thursday, and Chapter 9 will post on Monday. I need time to write and edit this week. Thank you all for your amazing love for this story. It's flooring me every chapter, truly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Wednesday, July 18, 2012**

After the events of yesterday, I want to go and see Edward first thing in the morning, but I resist the temptation. I'm sure he's still exhausted and recovering from what happened, and he doesn't need me bothering him. I make it until lunchtime, but by then, not knowing how his day is going is driving me insane, so I call Alice just to make sure he's okay. She can't give me any details about his condition because I'm not family, but she gives me a curt "yes" and tells me he was asking about me earlier. It seems he was worried that what happened yesterday upset me, and he wanted to make sure I was okay. _Um, well this is new._ I wonder what kind of visit is in store for me today.

As I walk through the door, he smiles at me. This is the first time seeing me has provoked that kind of response from him, with the exception of when he was high on morphine, and the satisfaction I feel blooms into an excited grin. He looks tired and weak, but peaceful. His hands are resting on his belly, and I'm struck again by how much flatter it is. But the best thing of all is the even rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, seemingly without effort. In all the time I've known him, he's always had to struggle to breathe.

"Hi, Bella," he says, greeting me first.

I grin again at the obvious change in our usual routine. "Hello, Edward. How are you doing today?"

"Much better." He smiles again, and this time, it reaches his eyes, making their emerald depths sparkle. "I'm still tired from everything that happened yesterday, but this is the best I've felt since I got the blood infection. I'm in a lot less pain, and it feels amazing to be able to breathe again."

Suddenly, he looks down, focusing on his fingers as he runs them over the weave of the blanket, which I realize is a nervous habit. "Thank you. For what you did for me yesterday. I don't think I would have made it through the day without you."

His words are so honest and sincere that they smite my heart, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. "You're welcome. It was no big thing. I'm just glad I could be there for you."

"No big thing, huh?" he repeats, cocking an eyebrow at me. "That's interesting because I seem to remember thinking at the time that you looked as terrified as I felt."

I don't like being called out, but the fact that Edward feels comfortable enough with me to do it is a major step in the right direction. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep it from turning up into a grin. "Okay, so I was as scared as you were. Is that important?"

"Well, to me it is. The fact that it scared the shit out of you and you still stayed with me means—" He trails off awkwardly, looking embarrassed.

"Means what?"

"Well, it means more to me," he says quietly, his cheeks turning crimson.

_Oh my._

"I'm glad you let me do it," I tell him, looking into his eyes and covering his hand with my own.

Somehow, that's more than he can handle because he looks away from me, so I pull back my hand.

He stares out the window as if he's trying to make up his mind about something, so I sit and wait patiently.

After a few minutes, he seeks my eyes again, looking somber and resigned.

"I think I owe you an answer to another question. A harder one this time."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I still don't understand why, but what you went through with me yesterday has made me understand that you really want to be here. You want to know about me, and … I've got nothing to lose by telling you."

"Okay, Edward."

He draws in a deep breath, bracing himself for me to ask the all-encompassing question: "Why are you alone?" But I know he's not ready to tell me. He's maneuvered himself into this space between a rock and a hard place. If I try to take all the walls away at once, he'll fall apart, and he'll never see what I need him to see: that the end of his life needs to be about what he needs, not about what he can spare other people from.

So I take aim at just a piece of the puzzle. "Was someone with you when you had your chemo?"

He releases the breath he was holding in a whoosh, his relief palpable.

I know immediately that I've made the right choice.

"Yes, I have some very close friends who helped me through my chemo after my diagnosis, and then again after my first relapse. When I relapsed again, I … decided I just couldn't burden them any longer. So … I pulled away from them all. Most don't know I've relapsed again, so I distanced them by just drifting away. A few of my closest friends know about my relapse, so I told them other friends were looking after me, when actually, no one was."

"Do you think they'd understand your decision?"

"No, probably none of them would. But this is my problem, and I just couldn't bear to watch them suffer with me. It's bad enough that I have to go through it, but watching people I care about suffer because they feel bad for me …" He trails off, raising his eyes to mine for affirmation and understanding.

"So you did this for them."

"Yes."

"But what about you?"

"What _about_ me?" he snaps. "I'm going to die either way, so if I can save everyone else the pain of having to go through it with me, then it seems to me I should. Like I told you before, everyone dies alone. I guess I'm just practicing for the big moment."

He's angry about what's happened to him, but it's buried deep and tightly controlled until something makes it rise to the surface. I stare at him impassively, trying to decide my next move. He's made this decision and he's using his anger to fuel his resolve, but what will happen when the anger runs out?

He looks down at the blanket again, biting his lower lip and scratching absently at his arm. "You've already done so much for me … but … I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor."

_Wow, now this is progress!_ "Of course you can, Edward. Anything."

He glances over at me shyly. "If I gave you my keys, would you be willing to go to my apartment? I was brought here by ambulance two weeks ago, and I was delirious at the time. I don't even have my cell phone. There are some things I'd like to have here, and I … left a friend behind."

"A friend?"

"Yes. God, I hate asking you to do this, but I'm worried about him," Edward says, running a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and plunges ahead. "I have a cat named Sebastian. I took him in off the street as a kitten the week after I was diagnosed, so he's kind of been with me through everything. I knew I might … disappear, so I made an arrangement with this sweet little old lady who lives down the hall from me. She would check in with me every week, and if I was suddenly gone, she'd look after Sebastian. She has a key to my place, and I'm sure she's taking care of him, but I wanted to ask you if maybe … if I told you where to find it, you could leave some money out for her for food and for taking care of him."

_Oh, God, Edward has a cat._ And he's worried about who's taking care of it, despite the fact that he's terminally ill, in the hospital, and he nearly died the day before. It's the absolute sweetest thing I've ever heard. Warmth floods through my chest as I look at him, and I'm taken aback by the strength of it. I can do more than see that the old woman is reimbursed. Much more.

"Of course, I can do that—all of it. But … would it make you feel any better if I took care of Sebastian for you? I had a cat when I was at Berkeley, but she died, and I haven't gotten around to adopting another one. Just until you're out of the hospital, of course. I'm sure your neighbor is looking in on him, but at least this way, Sebastian would have some company in the evenings while you're away from him."

"You would … do that?" he asks incredulously, his eyes alight with hopefulness.

"Sure, why not?"

Suddenly, the light goes out. "I can't ask you to do that. It's too much," he says, shaking his head.

"Well, you didn't ask, I offered, so that's a moot point. I wouldn't mind the company in the evenings, and cats aren't much trouble to care for."

"Maybe I _was_ right that first day," he murmurs. "You just might be an angel."

I chuckle, and he gives me a brilliant smile.

"Is that a yes then?" I prompt.

"Yes, I'm sure you and Sebastian will get on famously," he answers, his gaze warming parts of me that it has no right to warm. Edward can apparently be quite the charmer, when he's feeling up to it and isn't too busy trying to keep you at arm's length.

"Would you like me to go today? I have time this evening, if you know everything you want."

"Sure, okay. I'm thinking the easiest thing to do might be to have you call me once you get there. I'm … not exactly sure what state things were in when I left, so I'll probably need to give you some direction," he says, blushing and looking down.

He's seriously worried about whether his apartment will be a mess when I see it? Does he really care what I think _that_ much? "Don't worry about that. You've been sick, and I'm not going to inspect the place. What kinds of things were you wanting?"

"Well, my phone, and I was going to ask you to grab some of my own pajamas—these damn hospital gowns irritate the hell out of my skin and are making me even itchier, and … I wanted some of my art supplies."

"You're an artist?" I ask, my eyes widening.

He grins. "Yes. I think it'll be fairly obvious once you see my place. Mostly, I'm a painter, but since I can't really do that at the moment, I'd at least like to be able to draw a bit, when I'm feeling well enough."

He's a painter? I never would have guessed that, but then again, I never put much thought into what he did before he came here. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don't I go now, and I'll stop by your place on my way home? I know you're still recovering from yesterday, and I don't want to keep you up too late. I'll get your things and Sebastian and take them home with me tonight, and then I'll bring everything by in the morning, all right?"

"Bella, thank you," he says, covering my hand with his own. "This really means a lot to me, and I so appreciate you doing it."

My stomach flutters as electricity shoots up my arm. He's touching me. Why am I reacting like a schoolgirl? _Get a grip, Bella!_ I smile at him sweetly, and the warmth of my blush stings my cheeks. "Think nothing of it, Edward. So … I guess this means I get to come back tomorrow?"

He chuckles, and for the first time, it doesn't cause him to wince. "Yes, you can come back tomorrow, although I still don't understand why you want to."

"That's my business to mind," I say teasingly. "Tell me where your keys are and give me your address, and I'll go grab my stuff and head there now."

Edward gives me what I need, and I hurry down to my office and grab my things. Edward has an apartment on the southwest side of the city in Pioneer Square, a historic neighborhood known for its many art galleries.

I find parking in a deck around the corner and walk quickly to the address Edward gave me. He lives in a five-story building that spans the block, with an art gallery and a few storefronts taking up the first floor. The building is red brick and has lots of evenly spaced windows, with a filigreed terra cotta relief sculpture under each one. It's obviously very old—maybe even a historic landmark. Wow.

I glance up at the twin griffons carved in the pediment overhead as I push through the outer doors and grin. I love old buildings.

I make my way up to the fourth floor, eager to learn more about the still-mysterious young man I just left at the hospital. Nothing could have prepared me for what I am about to see. The apartment is a gorgeous loft, with hard wood floors and red brick interior walls climbing to a ceiling that is at least twelve feet high, but what draws my eye and has me clutching at the doorframe is the absolutely stunning picture of the nighttime Seattle skyline that takes up most of the living room wall.

As I stare, a gray blur catches my eye as it flies down the hallway, breaking the trance I'm in. I push the door closed behind me, not taking my eyes off the picture, and slowly cross the room toward it. _Oh my, it's a painting._ The detail is so precise and so realistic, I was sure it was a photograph, but as I get closer, I can see the rich strokes of Edward's brush on the sky and the trees surrounding the rooftops in the foreground. It's breathtaking. And enormous. The painting is at least six feet tall, mounted over a low leather couch. It's unbelievable.

Suddenly, my legs give out as I remember that the beautiful, artistic soul who painted this is dying in a hospital all alone, and I'm the only person he's currently allowing to care about him. I swallow past the lump in my throat as a few tears trickle down my cheeks. _Oh, Edward._

I sit there on the floor for a moment, trying to gather myself and taking in the other artwork that adorns the walls of Edward's apartment. There's a smaller painting of the skyline of a city on the water hanging over the table in the dining area, and paintings of other cities and architectural structures everywhere I look. I decide that I'd better take a walk through the place before I call him, in case I react to anything else the way I did to the painting of Seattle.

The loft is small, but cozy, despite the hardwood floors and high ceilings. Edward has scattered area rugs about the space, and the furniture is a rich cherry, the couch and chairs overstuffed and comfortable-looking. The kitchen is basically a wall off the living room, with range, dishwasher, fridge, and sink all falling in line, and there are dishes strewn across the countertops. The sight contrasts sharply with the impeccable neatness of the apartment, but then I remember Edward was very sick when he left here. Otherwise, I'm sure I would have been able to eat off those countertops.

I proceed down the hallway to his bedroom, and I'm stunned again. Over the simple double bed with no headboard hangs a painting of San Francisco that is at least as large as the one of Seattle in the living room. The view of the city is from across the strait, and the Golden Gate Bridge is angled in from the left, twinkling streetlights dotting the span. The city is lit up against a velvet purple sky, and there's something … inviting about it. Edward has never said where he comes from, but I suddenly wonder if San Francisco is home. His bedroom is decorated with two other smaller paintings of San Francisco—a closer view of a portion of the skyline, and a row of brightly colored two-story houses on a swiftly sloping street. I would bet a good amount of money that one of them is home.

As I return to the hallway, I'm confronted by a portrait of a gray tabby cat with hazel eyes, who I think I might be getting acquainted with shortly. Lastly, I turn to the second bedroom across the hall. Canvasses line the walls, finished and unfinished work alike, the skylines of at least a dozen more cities, storefronts, landscapes, a few castles in Europe, but the piece that draws my eye is the skyline of New York City that takes up the entire right-hand wall of the room. It's unfinished. Edward has gotten about two-thirds of the way across the large canvas, then the buildings abruptly stop. I wonder when he was last able to work on it. It's the most detailed—and the most beautiful—of his paintings that I've seen yet. As I stare at it, I can almost hear the car horns honking in the distance and the gentle hum of white noise that pervades all large cities.

I suddenly realize I've been here almost twenty minutes already, and Edward is probably wondering why I haven't called yet. I head back out to the living room, dialing the phone as I go.

Edward picks up on the first ring. "Bella," he answers softly, and I hear relief in his voice.

"Hi, Edward. I'm at your apartment."

"Did you have any trouble finding it?"

"Nope, none at all. The building is gorgeous, and your apartment is lovely."

"How bad is it?"

I glance around the immaculate living room, unable to hide my snicker. "Bad. You're a total neat freak. I don't think I can handle it."

He chuckles. "Funny, Bella. But seriously, is my place a disaster?"

"No. There are some dishes lying around that I'm going to clean up, but other than that, the place looks fine."

"You don't have to do that," he says, and I can tell he's uncomfortable.

"Don't worry about it. I'm a girl—most of us have this instinctual need to set things right. If I leave these dishes here, I'm going to know they're sitting out and it's going to bother me, and I'll just have to come back and do it later, so I'd rather just do it now. I won't snoop, I promise."

He chuckles again.

"Have you seen Sebastian?"

"A gray blur flew down the hallway the minute I opened the door, but I haven't seen him since."

"Okay, he'll be hiding under my bed, then. That's where he goes when he's scared. If you look in the cupboard to the left of the sink, there are treats in there for him. That should be enough to lure him out, and there's a carrier in the closet in the hallway."

"I'm sure he and I will do just fine. Where are the rest of the things you wanted?"

"Well, I'm hoping you'll find my phone somewhere in my room."

I walk back down the hall to his bedroom and find his phone on the nightstand next to the bed. It's a wonder the paramedics didn't think to grab it. "I found it, Edward. It was sitting on the nightstand."

"Okay, good. You should find some pajamas in the top left drawer of the chest."

I follow his directions and find several silk nightshirts folded neatly in a pile. "Silk?"

"Yeah," he says nervously. "It's the only thing I've found that doesn't irritate my rash, and … I … had to get shirts because it hurts too much to wear pants."

I suddenly remember what he told me about his lymph nodes "down south" being swollen and painful, and I curse myself for accidentally delving into what is obviously a very touchy subject for him. _Fuck._ "I'm sorry, Edward, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," he says hastily. "I just didn't want you to think … Never mind."

_Time to change the subject._ "You also said you wanted some art supplies?"

"Yes. I do my work in the other bedroom."

"Okay, I'm heading over there."

"As soon as you walk in, you'll see a set of plastic drawers on the floor to your left. In the top drawer, you'll find a silver tin with charcoals and pencils in it. I usually use it if I'm drawing somewhere outside the apartment."

"Got it."

"In the drawer below that there should be a few blank hard-bound sketchbooks. If you can grab a couple of those, that should be all I need."

I look into the drawer he indicated and pull out two blank sketchbooks, one red and one black. "Okay, I think I've got it all."

"Oh, you'll need things for Sebastian too. His litter box and food and water dishes are in the kitchen, you'll find his food with the cat treats, and I keep the litter in the closet around the corner from the kitchen."

Edward proceeds to tell me where to find a pen and paper, dictates a note for Mrs. Cope, his neighbor, and tells me where to find the cash to leave on the counter for her. "I want you to take some, too, for taking care of him," he finishes.

"No, Edward. I volunteered to take him and I'm happy to have a friend for a while."

"Bella—"

"Edward, I'm here and you're there. I'm going to win this argument."

"For now," he concedes, and I swear I can see the pouty look on his face even through the phone. I have to stifle a giggle. "Oh, and there are some toys for Sebastian in the basket next to the couch."

Did he seriously just tell me where to find toys for his cat? I smirk and wonder if I'm going to be smothered by the cute. "Okay," I say quickly, trying to keep the smile out of my voice.

"What?"

"Nothing! You're just … very … detail-oriented."

"I'm sorry! I know I'm asking too much of you."

"No, it's not that at all. It's … cute."

He actually laughs this time, and it's a beautiful sound, right up to the point when I hear him hiss in pain. It's the first time I've ever heard him laugh, and I know I don't want it to be the last. I also realize we were having a normal conversation for the last few minutes. He sounded relaxed, and even a bit … happy. For a moment, I forgot what I'm doing here and how we know each other. For a moment, we were something else, and as I hear him clear his throat, I feel the loss of it keenly.

"Thank you, Bella, for doing all this," he says, a quaver in his voice. "It really means a lot to me. There's no way I could do it for myself."

"You're welcome. I want to be your friend, and these are the kinds of things friends do."

"Yes … well …"

"Listen, I should go round up Sebastian and get him settled at my place, and it's past your bedtime. I'll bring your things by in the morning, all right?"

I hear him chuckle again. "That's great, Bella. Have a good evening."

"You too. I'll see you tomorrow."

Tears sting my eyes as I hang up the phone. I've learned so much about Edward in such a short span of time today, and all of it seems to be pulling me even closer to him. He told me quite a few things, but coming here and seeing the life he leads and the things he cares about has given Edward a dimension for me that I would have never gotten in the hospital. A dimension I've never had for any of the other terminal patients I've befriended because I never saw them outside the hospital walls. I'm grateful and heartbroken all at the same time.

I shake myself, looking up at the clock on Edward's wall and realizing it's already almost eight, and I have a lot of work to do. There's no way I'm leaving Edward's apartment as I found it, for him to clean up when … if he returns.

Once the kitchen is in order, I go to the bedroom and strip his bed, stuffing the sheets into a duffel bag I find in his closet so I can take them to my place to wash them. I collect the towels from his bathroom, and I spy his laundry hamper and take everything in there, too. Finally, I gather together all the trash in the apartment and take it down to the disposal on the first floor.

By the time I'm ready to tackle Sebastian, it's past nine o'clock. I locate the crate and the treats, and go looking for the frightened cat in the bedroom.

He's right where Edward said he'd be, sitting like a sphinx directly under the center of the mattress.

"Hey, Sebastian, your buddy Edward sent me to be your friend for a while. He wishes he could be here himself, but I'll take good care of you until he comes back, okay?" I say softly to him, placing a treat on the carpet in front of me. Slowly, he shimmies toward me and ducks his head to sniff my offering. I offer my hand as well, and apparently, I pass muster because he comes out from under the bed and sits down in front of me to eat his treat. Slowly, I caress his downy head and scratch gently behind his ears.

He's as beautiful as the portrait in the hallway—his intelligent hazel eyes sizing me up as I offer him affection. He's all smooth and sleek gray fur with a darker gray pattern of tabby stripes, with white socks on each of his paws, the color going a bit higher on the hind ones. As I continue to scratch, he suddenly rolls over and offers me his belly, purring deeply as he arches his back, trying to get me to relocate my attentions. Oh, yes, Sebastian and I are going to get along just fine.

A few more moments and he allows me to pick him up and put him in the carrier, and then I gather everything up to head back to my car. It takes me two trips to get everything, but finally, I close up Edward's apartment and head back to my place. Not for the first time, I think about Edward sitting alone in that hospital room, and I hope what I've done today will at least make it a little easier.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh, oh, oh! I have been WAITING and WAITING to get to this chapter so you could all truly meet my sweet artistward. There's so much more to him than meets the eye! LOTS of things to share this week: pictures of Sebastian, Edward's apartment, and his artwork can be found in Shadow Fics. There will be a Thursday posting this week, and a little teaser in Shadow Fics on Tuesday. Thank you all for your amazing responses to the last chapter. I'm thrilled that you found it so powerful! Until Thursday!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Thursday, July 19, 2012**

The next morning, I go straight to Edward's room to drop off the things he asked for. I've also brought him a gift, of sorts. After I saw him have chills the other day with his fever, I went through my afghan stash and picked one out for him. It's a beautiful basket weave, and the soft, forest green color reminds me of his eyes.

I slip into the room, figuring he'll still be asleep, and my guess is proven right as I listen to his soft, even breathing. I put the afghan and his nightshirts down on my usual chair and lay the art supplies and his phone on top.

As I turn to leave, a soft, sleepy voice calls from behind me.

"Hey."

"Shit, I didn't mean to wake you," I say as I turn, my grin matching his as I look at his sweet, smiling face. I know he has to lie on his back and can't move around very much because of the various parts of him that are swollen and painful, but somehow, he apparently still manages to have spectacular bedhead in the morning. It stands out in every direction—not long enough to be curly, but far from straight. I can't help but chuckle.

"What?" he asks, clearly not awake yet.

"You have a nice morning look."

His left hand runs self-consciously through his hair, and his blush is adorable. "That's it; pick on a guy the moment he wakes up."

I bite my lip so hard, I almost go clean through. Edward is teasing me. Now that he's accepted I want to be here, he's willing to lower his guard with me—well, most of it, anyway. My chest tightens as I realize how much I like that, and how much I like his teasing.

His brow furrows as he catches the vibe I must be sending. "What is it?"

"Nothing, I—I brought everything you asked for."

His eyes fall on the pile I placed on the chair. "What's that on the bottom?"

"Oh, I brought an afghan for you that I made. Those damn hospital blankets are so thin, and I know you sometimes get chills when you're feverish. I thought it might help to keep you warm."

I hold it out to him, and he lays his hand on it, caressing it gently with his fingers. His teeth grab his bottom lip as he looks down at it, and I hear him swallow thickly. When he finally looks at me, his eyes are soft and warm, and I can see the depth of his gratitude there. His smile makes my heart skip a beat. "Thank you, Bella. This is beautiful. You made it?"

I smile back and nod.

"I really appreciate it. It's cold in here sometimes even when I'm not having chills, so I know I'll get a lot of use out of it." He begins to unfold it, and then he looks at me again. "Would you?"

I take the afghan from his hands and spread it over his legs for him, pulling it up to just below his waist.

He smiles again as he looks at it. "It really is beautiful work. It's the nicest gift I've gotten in a long time."

My heart surges in both happiness and sorrow at his words. It's criminal that he's not surrounded by people who are taking care of him like this, but I'm thrilled I've made him happy and I can do things for him. "You're welcome."

The moment stretches as we look at one another, but it becomes too intense and he looks away, changing the subject.

"How's Sebastian?"

I grin at the memory of the little furball who has already taken over my apartment. "He's doing just fine. I got him out from under your bed with a treat last night, and he warmed up to me pretty quickly and let me put him in the carrier."

"Wow, I knew he was a ladies' man, but that's quick, even for him."

"He seems comfortable in my apartment too," I say, walking back toward him and picking up his cell phone.

"I wasn't messing with your phone or anything, but I thought you might like to have this." I pull up the shot I took of Sebastian this morning and show it to him.

His smile lights up the room and fills me with so much happiness I can barely contain it.

"Aww, there's my boy! Thank you so much for taking this!" he exclaims, beaming at me.

"You're welcome. I wish I could bring him to see you, but since I can't, I can at least send you pictures."

"Really, thank you," he repeats, his green eyes capturing mine and holding them.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. "Well, I should go for now, but I'll come back this afternoon after my last patient, all right?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

**¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)**

When I return to his room around four o'clock, Edward is drawing in one of his sketchbooks. I had been wondering how he was going to manage that. I figured he couldn't just lay the book on his stomach to draw given all the pain he's been having, so he's managed to position the hospital table so the back of the book is leaning against it, and the bottom is against his chest. He quickly closes it up, but it reminds me of the paintings in his apartment.

"Hi, Edward."

"Hey, Bella."

"I see you're already using everything I brought," I observe as he slides the red sketchbook onto the little rolling table and pushes it away from the bed. He's also wearing one of the silk nightshirts.

"Yeah, I'm much more comfortable and a lot less bored," he answers, smirking as he rests his hand on the sketchbook.

"Edward, your paintings are absolutely fantastic!" I gush as I sit down in my usual chair.

The proud smile that spreads across his face and the ruddiness of his cheeks make my own smile grow even wider. "The amount of detail in them is just incredible and they're so … realistic!"

"Thanks," he says softly.

"I mean it; you're an incredibly talented artist. Have you sold much of your work?"

"I've sold about a dozen skyline paintings and a few other odds and ends. Business had been really picking up for me, but I had to stop promoting my work when I relapsed the last time, and I hadn't really gotten back into it before all this happened."

"What city is the painting in the dining room?"

"That's Baltimore. I used to … go there when I was a kid," he replies slowly, his body language warning me that I've stumbled onto an off-limits topic.

"Did you grow up in San Francisco?"

"Yes," he answers, narrowing his eyes at me a bit. "How did you—" Then he chuckles. "Sometimes, I forget what you do for a living when I'm talking to you."

"Well, it's not hard to figure out that the pictures in your bedroom might be of somewhere that's important to you, but I _have_ heard it's hard to be friends with a psychologist—"

"They're always analyzing you," we say together, laughing, but his is brought up short by a sharp intake of breath and a pained grunt.

"Shit, remind me not to laugh anymore, it hurts too fucking much," he instructs me, cradling an arm over his belly.

"I promise not to be funny," I tell him, trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood but failing miserably. I'm concerned about how much pain he's in and whether the fluid in his belly will come back.

I try to steer us away from difficult topics. "I love the painting of New York in your studio."

"Thanks. That's the biggest painting I've ever done. It was a commission too, but now, I don't know if I'll ever get to finish it."

"Sure you will! I'm sure once you're over this infection, you'll be able to work on it."

"I don't know," he says dejectedly. "As you might have guessed from the size of my work, I need to stand to paint, and it's been a while since I've been strong enough to do it for very long. I worked on it a little after my first relapse, but I got so weak after the second one that there was no way I could do it. I haven't worked on it in about six months."

Dammit, there are no safe subjects today because we're talking about a life Edward clearly thinks he's already left behind.

"Well, at least you can draw in the meantime," I say rather lamely. I have no response other than sadness for the fact that he can't paint anymore.

"Yes, I think that's going to be a really good thing for me. On the days I'm not feeling too badly, this place can be pretty boring."

"I imagine so. What have you been doing to pass the time up until now?"

He looks down and away, a sad smile on his face. "Well, honestly, there haven't been that many good days for me up until now. The first week I was here, I was feverish from the infection and pretty out of it. And you saw last week—I had a day or two that were okay, and that's when I was bored, but most of the time I was hurting and struggling to breathe.

"Yesterday, I was seriously bored, though. That was a big part of the reason I asked you to go to my apartment. That and being worried about Sebastian."

I smile as I think about the cat that's currently acquainting himself with my apartment, and I imagine Edward petting him and smiling. He said he found Sebastian the week after he was diagnosed—I wonder how much hell that cat helped him get through.

"Bella?"

I startle, blushing as I realize I've been sitting here daydreaming about Edward and his cat, while I'm sitting in the same room with him. Oops.

"Sorry. I was just … Never mind."

He grins, and it's sweet and warm and reminds me of that first day when I met him, and I know it's because I'm blushing, and … What the hell is going on here? My cheeks heat even more, and I clear my throat. _Is it hot in here?_

He bites his lip and ducks his head, and I'm struck again by how handsome he is. I want to know more about him, and not just so I can figure out why he's alone.

"So Sebastian really didn't give you any trouble last night?"

"No, he was just fine. He sniffed around the apartment for a while, but when I headed for the bedroom he seemed to know it was time to settle down and he curled up on the pillow beside me."

Edward snorts. "Either you managed to charm him or he's getting soft in his old age. It took him two weeks to get up the courage to join me on the bed after I took him in."

"You said you found him on the street?"

"Yeah. He was a few months old at the time, and I kept seeing him around the front steps near my building. When I first saw him, he looked like someone had been taking care of him, but he got scruffier and thinner as the weeks went by, so I knew he'd been abandoned. And one day I just … decided to take him up to the apartment with me."

"And that was right after you were first diagnosed?"

He looks at me from the corner of his eye—the ice is thin here. I need to tread carefully.

"Yes. I was … still trying to come to terms with things, and I needed … distraction. Sebastian gave me something to think about besides myself, and I think it helped me."

"I'm sure it did. And you helped him too."

"Oh, he repaid me plenty for taking him in. He's very affectionate for a cat, and he'll actually come when I call him. I had lots of rotten days during my chemo when I was too tired or sick to do anything, and he would come and just sit on the bed with me and let me pet him. I owe him."

"Well, I'll be sure to take extremely good care of him."

I glance at my watch and notice it's nearly six o'clock. "Speaking of Sebastian, he's probably going to be pretty unhappy with me if I don't get home and feed him soon."

Is that a look of disappointment I see on Edward's face? Why, yes, I believe it is! I hate to disappoint him, but I truly couldn't be happier with the fact that he wants me to stay. "Can I come back tomorrow?" I ask. I already know the answer, but it's still nice to hear.

"Yes, I'd like that," he answers me, flashing a true smile.

My heart bubbles with warmth, and I grin all the way home.

* * *

><p>AN: So much love for my artistward, and good Lord, the reaction to Sebastian! So many cat people! You guys make posting days ROCK! Pictures in Shadow Fics today of Edward's lovely morning look and Bella's afghan for him, among other things. Chapter 11 will post on Monday!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Friday, July 20, 2012**

I arrive at Edward's room at four and find him busily drawing just like yesterday. I try to creep into the room quietly, but that damn squeak gets me. His head snaps up from what he's doing, and the sketchbook snaps shut. _Fuck, I wanted to peek at what he's working on! _ He grins at me … nervously? He looks like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It's the black sketchbook this time. Could he possibly have filled the red one up already?

He's wearing a midnight blue nightshirt, and somehow it brings out the red highlights in his hair. He looks good today, compared to most of the days I've seen him. There's a bit of color to his cheeks, and he seems to have some energy. Granted, he's not about to jump off his bed, but he seems to be less a part of said bed than he usually does. As if he could get up, if he wanted to.

"Hi, Edward. How are you today?" I ask as I settle into my chair.

"Not bad. I'm still amazed at how much better I feel since the procedure on Tuesday. I didn't think it would help that much, but it really has."

"That's fantastic! I'm so glad to see you've got some energy today."

He grins and shrugs, wincing a bit, but the smile doesn't leave his face. "So … can you stay for a while?"

"Of course I can, Edward. How is today different from any other day?"

"Well, I just thought … It's Friday night, you know …"

Oh! Since I broke up with Peter, I haven't really noticed when it's been Friday night, other than thinking about sleeping in the next day when I'm sitting in my jammies watching a movie. Wait, did he just ask me if I have a boyfriend? It was kind of roundabout, but … No, he's dying of cancer. He's not thinking about me that way.

"No, I don't have any plans tonight. I'm … not dating anyone right now, and I don't go out that often. So you're stuck with me," I tease.

He blushes, and I think I see a bit of satisfaction in his smile. Actually, we both seem to be blushing, so it must be time to change the subject.

"Can I ask you something?"

He tenses, as if he's ready to draw his walls around himself in an instant if I ask the wrong question. _Damn, Edward, relax! If I really want to know something that I know you don't want to tell me, I'm never just going to ask you point-blank! _

"Sure," he replies, starting to trace the squares on his afghan.

"How did you learn to paint the way you do?"

He relaxes immediately, releasing the breath he was holding and stilling his fingers.

"I didn't. I just … knew. Same as how one day you just start walking and talking. I started drawing and painting. I didn't learn that much in art school. I went because I had to, but it was easy because I somehow just … knew already."

"What you do is amazing."

Edward blushes, shaking his head and smiling. "See, now I find what you do to be amazing. You talk to people and help them sort out their lives—make them feel better. You have an impact on people, and they're better off for knowing you."

My mouth drops open, and my eyebrows shoot up. He thinks what _I_ do is amazing?

I'm pulled back into the present as he continues. "What I do is selfish. I paint because of how it makes _me_ feel."

"Oh, but, Edward, your work makes people happy! When I walked into your apartment, I loved that picture of Seattle, but when I got close enough to realize it was actually a painting, I was completely floored."

"Really?"

"Yes, it's breathtaking. And the fact that you're able to do that without even thinking about how it affects other people makes it even more amazing."

"I never really thought about it that way. I paint what makes me happy, and I guess I just hope there's someone else out there who sees what I see in it."

"And what is it you see when you paint a skyline like the one that hangs in your living room?" His brilliant green eyes pierce me, as if he's trying to figure me out, and suddenly I'm unsure. "You don't have to tell me," I say quickly.

"No, I … You're the first person to ever ask that question. I wasn't expecting it." He takes a deep breath—because he can now—and his stare is unfocused, as if he's picturing the painting in his living room in his mind.

"I see … life. There's nothing more alive than a city. It teems with it. And there's an energy to it. An excitement. When I paint all the windows in those buildings, I imagine the lives that are playing out behind them: family dinners, first kisses, birthday parties. It's like there's a whole world in each one, and they all just sit side by side, going on day after day.

"It also reminds me of … home. I grew up on the streets of San Francisco, and when I look at my skyline paintings I can hear the sounds of the city in my head."

I smile, remembering my own thoughts from when I was in his apartment. "You seem to paint mostly nighttime skylines."

"Yes, I have a few reasons for that. Aesthetically, I think it's prettier to paint all the bright lights, but it goes back to what I said about energy. The feel of a city is different in the evening. People are home from work, some are going out—the evening is when most people truly live their lives. And I like the smell of the city in the evening. I have so many memories of being outside on summer nights—the smell of people grilling, seeing people out and enjoying themselves—that's the place I go when I paint a skyline."

I stop breathing as he's speaking. Edward is as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. He's just so … deep. I can't believe he just shared that with me after all the time it took me to get him to answer a simple question. But I realize that the Edward I saw before wasn't the real one—_this_ is the real one. The real Edward is much more open—I can tell he's as willing to wear his heart on his sleeve as he is to paint in onto a canvas. We just met under the wrong circumstances—in a situation where he felt he needed to protect himself and his decisions. My chest tightens and I swallow audibly.

"Wow," I breathe.

His eyes snap back to mine and he blushes. "Well, you asked."

"Yes, I did, and now I understand so much more about your work. Thank you."

He smiles this bashful little smile and ducks his chin a bit.

"I just can't imagine doing what you do. I'm so right-brained; I don't have a creative bone in my body."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," he says with a disbelieving grin. "Everyone is creative in some way. Maybe you just don't know what it is yet, or you don't realize that something you're doing is creative." He pauses for a moment in thought. "Your knitting is creative."

"Not _really_," I object, shaking my head. "It's just a bunch of yarn I weave together. Anyone can do that."

"But are you the one who picks out the colors of the yarn, and do you decide what pattern to use?"

"Yes—"

"You see? That's creative! You're making something no one ever has before, and using your own ideas to do it. That's the definition of creativity."

Warmth fills my chest and I blush. How in the hell did he take my knitting abilities and raise them up to the same level as his incredible artistic skills? On a rational level, I know it's complete bullshit, but on an emotional one? He just made me feel talented and special.

"I still think you're a hell of a lot more creative than I am. Have you been to all the places you've painted?"

"Most of them. There are one or two skylines I've done from pictures, but I don't think they're as good as the ones of places where I've been. Every city has a distinct feel to it, and I try to capture that when I paint. And the only way to get that feel is by going there and feeling it for yourself."

I think back to the paintings I looked at in his studio—not all of the cities were in the US. "What about the paintings of Paris, and the castles?"

"Actually, most of those were painted on location," he admits, and I gasp.

"Really? Wow! When were you in Europe?"

He hesitates, pursing his lips, and a shadow of pain crosses his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. We can talk about something else."

"No," he says firmly. "I … feel like I should tell you …"

"You don't have to tell me because you feel like you owe me something. You don't owe me anything, Edward."

"No, it's … more than that. I want to tell you. I don't have a lot of … choices left to me, and if telling you about my life will make you happy then I want to. And … I want you to know me. You've given of yourself every day you've come here, and I want to give to you too."

I'm … stunned. He really _has_ been doing a lot of thinking, and it seems that ever since I stayed with him this week, he's decided he at least wants to get to know me, and for me to know him. We're not all the way there, but I'll take it.

I reach over and cover his hand with mine, and this time he doesn't seem overwhelmed. His skin is warm underneath my fingers; he's probably running a low-grade fever, but at least it doesn't seem to be bothering him. I rub my fingers over his knuckles and feel the softness of the skin there. "Thank you, Edward. I do want to get to know you."

"So, you asked about Europe," he begins.

I nod my head, and although I stop rubbing my fingers over his, I leave my hand there.

He looks down at our hands, then turns his underneath mine and laces our fingers together so he's now holding my hand. He glances up at me, saying "Is this okay?" with his eyes, and I nod as I smile at him. He squeezes my fingers and my chest tightens.

"I stayed in San Francisco after high school and went to the California College of the Arts for my art degree. While I was there, I made a lot of good friends, and after graduation, a bunch of us decided to go bum around Europe before we really started on our careers.

"It was fantastic. Paris, Milan, Venice, Florence, Rome, Madrid. We went wherever the wind blew and saw all there was to see. We went to the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, the Uffizi Gallery, the Prado. I can't even remember all the galleries we went to. And when we were done, we settled in France to paint. My friend, Jasper, and I rented a house and stayed there for almost a year. His specialty is painting landscapes, so he had plenty to work with, and I traveled around and painted the castles. It wasn't until a bit later that I discovered my true passion was cities. Toward the end of our time there, I painted Paris, Milan, Madrid, and Vienna, but I know so much more now. I'd give anything to go back and paint London, Frankfurt, and Rotterdam."

I hear the hunger in his voice, and I bite my lip, knowing he's never going to get there. He'll never see those places, and they'll never flow from his brush onto a crisp, white canvas. _Fuck._ _Time to move along._ "Where did you go after Europe?"

Edward closes his eyes for a moment before he answers, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing I just was or if we're approaching whatever he doesn't want to tell me.

"Jasper and I came here, to Seattle. That was … six years ago now? I can't believe it's been that long."

"Is Jasper still here?" I ask, latching on to this guy's name because he seems to be the key to Edward's current discomfort.

"Yes, he's still here. He's … pretty pissed at me about now, I'm sure."

I hadn't mentioned it to Edward, but when I'd used his phone to take the picture of Sebastian for him, I'd noticed several missed calls from Jasper.

"Is he the one who helped you during your chemo?" I probe gently.

Edward looks over at me with sorrow in his eyes. He purses his lips, and I know the exact second when he decides to tell me everything. "Yes, he was. The first time, I had a lot of help. When Jazz and I moved here, we met a lot of great people in the art community. We had lots of friends—we went to lots of parties—and everyone was just really supportive and encouraging of one another. When I was first diagnosed, everyone rallied around me. They all took turns driving me to appointments and staying with me when I was too sick to take care of myself. I felt very … loved, and I got better."

"What about the second time?"

Edward looks down, his fingers tracing the weave on the blanket again. "The second time was different. Everyone was just … busy. Some of them helped a bit, but I could tell they were put out that I was sick again. I don't blame them. Hell,_ I_ was pretty put out that I was sick again, and I knew how much effort it took to take care of me. Jazz stayed with me, though. He took me to almost all of my appointments, and he even lived with me for the last month or so of my treatment. I couldn't have done it without him."

Now we are at the heart of the matter. I hold my breath, too afraid I'll break the spell if I ask the question, so I wait, hoping he'll push himself to continue.

He stares at his fingers as they trace the squares in the basket weave over and over again until his eyes become unfocused, lost in memory or regret, I'm not sure which.

I wait a few minutes, but I know he's stuck. "Edward," I call softly, and his eyes rise slowly to mine.

"Bella, I … I just can't talk about this right now. I'm having a good day today, and—"

"Edward, it's all right. I understand."

"No, you don't. I do _want_ to tell you, and I will; I just don't want to get upset today. I just … feel like I need to pretend that things are normal for a little bit while I'm feeling well. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, of course it does," I tell him, squeezing the fingers of our joined hands gently. I should push him now that he's gotten this far, but as I stare into his warm green eyes, I just can't make myself do it. I know I need to work quickly, but he wants this, and I'm finding it hard to deny Edward anything he wants lately. "What else can we talk about?"

"Well," he says hesitantly, ducking his chin. "I was thinking … maybe we could … do something tomorrow night?"

"Do something?"

"Yeah. There's this cart-thing with a flat screen and a DVD player that the patients can borrow. I was wondering if … you wanted to watch a movie with me tomorrow night."

I almost laugh out loud because he's trying so hard to do something normal in a situation that is anything but, but I bite my lip to hold it back, afraid of offending him. His smile is tentative, but oh so hopeful, and I swear it's the sweetest thing I've ever seen. The words are out of my mouth before I can even think clearly. "Of course I will! That sounds like fun!"

He beams at me, and that warmth fills my chest again.

"Good! I'll ask Alice about it when she brings my dinner in tonight." His eyes shoot down to his afghan. "Um … can you bring a movie for us to watch?"

I chuckle, and he chuckles right along with me. "Of course I can."

"And … will you bring popcorn?"

Now I just fucking laugh and shake my head at him. "Can you even_ have_ popcorn?"

"Sure, I have no diet restrictions. And I could certainly stand to put on a little weight."

"Well, if I really _can _bring you anything you want to eat, is there anything else you'd like to have?"

He ducks his head, but his smile is mischievous as he looks up at me through his eyelashes. "Raisinets? I kind of have a sweet tooth, and it's been more than three weeks since I've had any chocolate."

"A _guy_ with a sweet tooth? I thought it was only women who crave chocolate every day," I tease.

"Are you saying I'm a girl?"

"No …"

"Because I eat my Raisinets in a very manly way. By the handful! No pinkies involved!"

I double over laughing as I picture him gobbling handfuls of candy.

"Seriously! I always keep a bag of them in the studio when I paint. Or sometimes Hershey's Kisses. They're great energy boosters, and chocolate just makes me happy."

God knows I'll do just about anything to see him happy. I shake my head again. "Yes, I'll bring you candy so you can get your fix. And I'll bring popcorn, and a movie. It's a date—"

My eyes widen as the words leave my mouth, realizing an instant too late what I've just said. If he wasn't thinking that way, he'd just continue on with the conversation. But he doesn't. He looks away, and suddenly his cheeks are flaming red. If I wasn't thinking that way, I'd laugh it off and just keep talking. But I don't. I swallow thickly and look up at him, knowing my cheeks are a mirror of his own.

_He can't date, Bella. He's dying. He knows it. You know it._ _The only thing this will do is hurt you both, and interfere with you helping him._

"So, you'll be back tomorrow, then?" he asks, recovering from the awkward moment.

"Yes," I answer, finding my voice. "I'll be here with bells on."

**¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)**

I go home and try not to let myself think about those last few moments in Edward's room, but I'm failing miserably. After heating up some leftovers, I curl up in my bed to watch some TV, but I'm really not paying any attention.

Sebastian leaps up next to me, giving me an accusing glare. "What?" I ask, reaching a hand out to stroke him. He stares back at me, stone-faced. "All right, all right! Yes, I'm thinking about him. Are you staring at me because I shouldn't be thinking about him or because I should be?"

Sebastian cocks his head to the side and cuddles up against me, purring softly as I continue to pet him. Disgruntled feline notwithstanding, I _am_ thinking about Edward and what happened tonight. I'm definitely attracted to him. I've known that since the first moment I laid eyes on him, and there's nothing wrong with that. Hormones make no distinction if someone is dying, so I can't fault myself for that one.

I also care about him. Watching him go through what he has to with his cancer is hitting me very hard—is it because he's so young, or because I care about him more than I have about any other patient I've helped? Fuck, I don't have the answer to that, but it doesn't matter. I already care deeply for him and I'll do anything I can to help him.

But the part that's scaring me is how my caring about him is changing. I want to help him get to the point where he's ready to face what's coming, and that means he'll need to contact his friends and family, or at least make peace within himself with not contacting them. But I find myself wanting to be someone he cares about. He's opened up to me quite a bit this week, but is that because I'm the only one around?

I sigh in frustration. I shouldn't be thinking this way. My focus should be him and what he needs, not what I'm needing or feeling. Fuck. Somehow, I've managed to complicate this for myself, but I can't let it interfere with helping him. What we're doing tomorrow night is _not_ a date.

I pound my fist on the bed hard enough that Sebastian jumps. I have to stop this. It doesn't matter. He's dying. Even if he cared about me the way I do about him, soon, he won't be here, and the closer we get, the more it's going to hurt us both when we reach the end. I swipe angrily at the tears streaming down my face and cry myself into a restless sleep.

* * *

><p>AN: So is it a date, or isn't it? Hmm … Teaser in Shadow Fics on Thursday, and Chapter 12 posts on Monday. Thank you for reading, and for the lovely conversations we have through reviews and PMs!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Saturday, July 21, 2012**

Despite my "pep" talk last night, I find myself looking forward to movie night with Edward. In completely inappropriate ways. I can't help it—I'm excited he's doing so well this week and that he's happy. About lunchtime, it occurs to me that since it's the weekend, I don't have to wait until four o'clock to go see him. In fact, if we're going to watch a movie, it would probably be better if I went earlier, because Edward is usually pretty tired by the time I leave around six.

So, I pick three movies from my collection, grab some microwave popcorn, and stop by the grocery store to buy him his Raisinets. I buy a big bag instead of the usual movie box, and since he mentioned them, I pick up a bag of Hershey's Kisses for him too. _Shut up_, little voice in my head. They're on sale.

I arrive at Edward's room around two o'clock and peek in the door, as I usually do. He's sleeping. God, he's beautiful. I stand in the doorway, just staring at him and feeling all the things I told myself last night I shouldn't and wouldn't feel. He just looks so at peace when he's sleeping. The lines of pain disappear, and I can see the man he was before he got sick. I wish I'd met him then.

He shifts a bit on the bed, and his hand comes up to scratch at his chest. The poor guy. He's so itchy, he's even scratching in his sleep.

My thoughts are interrupted by soft green eyes and a sleepy smile. He's wearing a forest green nightshirt today that matches his eyes precisely and intensifies their brilliance. Damn.

"Bella," he greets me softly, but then his brow furrows. "Is it four o'clock already? Did I really sleep that long?"

"No, it's just two. Since it's Saturday and we were planning to watch a movie, I thought I'd come early."

His grin is spectacular. "Really?"

"Here I am," I say, spreading my arms and looking down at myself. "But I can come back later if you still want to rest."

He shakes his head gently and winces. "I'm fine. I've kind of gotten into a routine of resting after lunch until around three, and then I usually draw until you get here. But I feel like I sleep all the fucking time—don't worry about it."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm positive."

He cocks his head and stretches his neck a bit. "Whatcha got there, Bella?" he asks innocently.

I chuckle. God, he can be cute when he puts his mind to it. "I brought your drug of choice, along with popcorn and a few movies," I tell him as I set the bag down next to him on the bed.

He starts rummaging and pulls out the Raisinets and the Hershey's Kisses. "Ohh, you're spoiling me," he says, ripping open the bag of Raisinets and shoveling a handful into his mouth.

"Mmm," he moans appreciatively, and I feel it between my legs and on my cheeks too.

"Why don't you have a look at the movies I brought, and I'll go see about the TV and the popcorn?"

"Okay," he agrees, completely oblivious to the effect he's having on me, and I'm able to make my escape.

I head down the hallway and find Alice at the nurse's station. "I thought you didn't work on Saturdays?"

She grins at me. "I traded shifts with someone who really needed the day off. I thought _you_ didn't visit patients on Saturdays?"

I grin guiltily, and I know I'm blushing, so I'm short with her to try to cover it up. "This is different, Alice, and you know it."

"Uh huh. What's up?"

Oh, this will all but ensure that she gives me a raft of shit. "I came to see about getting the loaner TV and DVD player for Edward's room. We're going to watch a movie."

Alice giggles. "I know. He told me yesterday."

"So you made me ask because ...?"

"Because I love the color your face turns when you're nervous!" she squeals. "But seriously, what's up with you and Edward?"

"Nothing's up! He just ... wants to do something normal since he's feeling better this week." I do my best to keep my voice even, but she raises an eyebrow at me. "And I can't seem to tell him no."

She grins at me. "He_ is_ a sweetheart, once you get to know him. Have you made any progress with him?"

"Some. Since I stayed with him when he had the fluid drained from his belly, he decided that I'm here because I want to be, and he started opening up to me a bit. I still don't know where his family and friends are, but at least he's telling me things about himself."

"I hope he lets you help him. I don't want to see him go through this all alone."

"He won't be all alone, even if I don't manage to convince him to contact his friends and family. I'm going to stay with him until …" I trail off, because I can't seem to get the words out.

Alice looks at me thoughtfully, but she doesn't say anything further on the subject. "Go on back down with Edward. I'll bring the cart in a few minutes."

I'm about to turn around and do just that when I remember. "Actually, can I sneak into the nurse's lounge?" I ask, holding up my package of popcorn.

Alice giggles and nods.

I just roll my eyes at her and walk away.

By the time I get back to Edward's room, Alice has already dropped off the cart and disappeared. Edward is waiting for me, a smile on his face and a few Raisinets in his hand. He inhales appreciatively as I walk into the room, the smell of popcorn surrounding me.

"Mmm, that smells amazing. I haven't had popcorn in months. Thank you _so_ much for bringing it!"

Chuckling, I set the open bag next to him on the bed. Making him happy is making _me_ happier than I've been in months; I can't help but notice. But you know what? Fuck it. I'm going to have a nice afternoon with him, and I'm not going to have another thought about what I should and shouldn't be feeling. He's happy, I'm happy—how can this possibly be a bad thing?

"So, what movie are we going to watch?"

"Your selection of movies was a bit … surprising," he admits. "This is really stuff you like to watch?"

"Well, I figured you wouldn't thank me if I delved into my chick flick vault, but yes, I like action movies and suspense thrillers too."

"Well, we're definitely going to have to watch _The Avengers_, then. I'm a pretty big comic book fan."

I raise my eyebrows at him. I don't know why, but I didn't expect that.

"There are some amazing graphic artists who work in comics. I always liked to draw and paint, but comics drew me in and got me really thinking about art as a career. I would have gone into comic book art, but I'm much better with a brush than I am with a pencil, and I like to put more time into my work than you can afford to if you're drawing under a deadline."

The thought of Edward painting, or drawing for that matter, does funny things to my stomach; I would desperately love to watch him work. There's something so … intimate about it as I picture it in my head. I wonder what he'd say if I asked him to draw something for me. I file that one away for later as I stand up with the movie in my hand.

"I hate that you have to sit in that uncomfortable-looking chair while I get to lie here and relax. I wish we could both sit on the couch," he says, glancing over at the couch on the other side of the room.

"Is that a possibility?"

"I don't think so," he replies, looking a little crestfallen. "I'm … hooked up to a few things that don't make me very portable, and I don't think I could sit at that angle because of my … lymph node problems."

What is he … Oh. Never mind.

"But you could …" he trails off uncertainly.

"Could what?"

"Well, you could sit over here next to me if I slide over," he says bashfully. "There's enough room, and you'd be more comfortable and able to see better."

He won't meet my eyes, and I think it's because he doesn't want to admit that he just wants to be close to me. I wonder when he last had a girlfriend because he seems rather starved for a woman's touch. Every time I've touched him since he decided to trust me, he's leaned into it, and I can tell he likes holding my hand. I could very easily see him being a cuddler—maybe even a Momma's boy when he was younger. I wonder where his mother is, and when was the last time he saw her.

"But you don't have to …"

I jump a little, startled out of my woolgathering. There does seem to be enough room, and try as I might, I can't smother the voice in the back of my head that's cheering at the thought of being that close to him.

"Sorry. No, I'll sit next to you! If you're sure there's enough room and it won't hurt you too much to move over."

He grins at me, surprised. "Well, I can't promise it won't hurt me, but it won't do any permanent damage."

He plants his hands on either side of his hips and uses his arms to slide himself over carefully. The whole process is punctuated by a series of hisses and pained grunts, and the only reason I don't insist he stop is that I think I'll offend him.

When he gets to a position that seems to give me enough room, he stops and lies there for a moment with his eyes closed, his breathing a bit heavy. Once he's collected himself, he looks over at me and smiles.

"There," he says pleasantly, and he pats the spot on the bed next to him.

"Let me get the movie going first," I tell him, going around to the DVD player and putting the disc in. Once it's started and I've handed the remote to him, I go back around the bed and very gently position myself next to him. He winces as my weight depresses the bed, but he doesn't make another sound as I get comfortable. Once I'm still, he starts the movie.

We share popcorn and Raisinets as we watch, and I find myself watching _him_ way more than what's on the screen. The TV is on his side of the bed at such an angle that I can watch him in my peripheral vision without it being obvious that's what I'm doing.

And so watch I do. I watch him eat popcorn. I watch as he smirks and laughs at what's on the screen. I watch and I have to remind myself that he's dying, because right now he just looks like a guy I could be out on a date with. A guy I wish I were out on a date with.

I'm acutely aware of the second his shoulder comes into contact with mine, and I glance down and see he's sliding his hand across his thigh toward me. I wait, letting him traverse the distance, but as soon as his hand brushes over mine I entwine my fingers with his.

A grin spreads across his face, but he never looks away from the screen, and my heart feels like it's going to explode out of my chest. God, nothing in the world feels as good as making him happy. I could become addicted to this feeling, easily.

I'm relaxed and comfortable, and without realizing it, I lay my head against his shoulder. The grin is back—I can feel it radiating off him rather than see it—and a few moments later, he leans his head against the top of mine.

I wake with a start and look over to find Edward's sleepy green eyes staring back at me, just as confused as I am. The TV is displaying the menu for the movie, and the door to Edward's room is closing very slowly.

Alice.

I bet she poked her head in here and saw us all cuddled up and didn't want to disturb us.

Edward is smiling at me, looking as if he doesn't have a care in the world. "I think we fell asleep," he observes, his voice warm and gravelly. Damn, if that isn't the sexiest sound I've ever heard!

"We did," I agree, grinning right back.

He glances at the clock over the door. "Wow, it's six o'clock already. I bet that was Alice bringing in my dinner."

"Probably. Why don't I go chase her down, and you can get yourself settled again?"

"Sounds like a plan," he says as I slide myself carefully off the bed.

I'm not even halfway to the nurse's station when I hear Alice's excited squeal. She's around the desk and bouncing in front of me before I can say "annoying girlfriend."

"You guys looked _so_ cute, I didn't have the heart to disturb you."

"Yeah, we must have fallen asleep watching the movie," I admit, shrugging.

"You were awfully … cozy," she observes, giving me the hairy eyeball.

"Alice, you know it's not like that."

"Maybe it isn't for you, but I'm not so sure about him. I think he naps in the afternoon just so he can be awake when you come in the evening. It's the high point of his day now."

I blush as she says it, an increasingly vocal part of me hoping it's true. But to her, I offer a noncommittal shrug. "There's nothing to it, Alice. I care about him … a lot, but it's not anything more than that—it _can't_ be anything more than that. He just … needs comfort. I don't know when he last had a girlfriend or saw his mother, but he seems a bit starved for simple attention. If I can give that to him and it makes him happy, then I'm going to do it."

"Good. He needs someone to make him happy. And I get the feeling it's making you happy too," she tells me.

She's got my number, but I'm not ready to admit it yet, so I just roll my eyes. "Were you bringing Edward's dinner down?"

"Actually, I was just checking on him, but food services is already on the floor. Let me go grab his tray, and you can take it to him."

She flits off down the hall and returns a few minutes later with Edward's dinner. Tonight, he appears to be having chicken parmesan with penne pasta and green beans, and apple pie for dessert. It doesn't look half-bad—I hope it isn't actually awful.

Brilliant green eyes and a bright smile greet me as I enter the room, and I see he's managed to move himself back to the center of the bed. No harm done then.

"Wow, dinner _and_ a movie. Lucky me," he teases as I move the TV away from his bed and position his little table so it's over his thighs.

I retrieve his tray from where I left it on my chair, and after I set it down, I remove the cover with a flourish and say "Bon appetite!" in my best French accent. He's not the only one who knows how to tease.

He chuckles at me and shakes his head, but then his expression turns a bit serious. "Do you, um … need to go?"

"Well, I should get going pretty soon," I reply, but I'm brought up short as I see his face fall. He doesn't want this day to end, and if I'm honest with myself, neither do I. "But I can stay for a little while yet."

His eyes light up again as he grins, and my stomach twinges giddily.

"Are you hungry? Because I can share what I have—"

"No, that's okay. I wouldn't want to deprive you of that most excellent-looking mystery meat parmesan," I deadpan.

"Hey! It's most definitely identifiable as chicken, and it's not half-bad," he says defensively, but I can see the twinkle in his eye.

"I know. It does actually look half-decent. But, honestly, I'm not that hungry yet anyway. We had popcorn and candy this afternoon, remember? And you need to eat it more than I do."

"Yeah," he agrees, looking a little offended. "I know I'm way too fucking skinny."

_Shit. _"I didn't mean that," I say quickly. "I just meant I'm sure the night nurses don't do room service if you get the munchies in the middle of the night."

"Oh," he answers, looking at me thoughtfully.

_Nice save, Bella! _

"Well, I'm too thin anyway," he reiterates. Damn, I must have really hit a nerve if he's not dropping this.

"Edward, that's not your fault. The cancer causes weight loss; there's nothing you can do. _I_ think you're beautiful."

His eyebrows disappear into his hairline, and I blush furiously. _Where the hell did that come from?_ I duck my head and try to change the subject. "Hey, since you're not on a special diet or anything, that means I could bring dinner in for you, doesn't it?"

His eyes widen. "Why, yes, I think it does," he answers, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

"Would you like that? We can pick a night, and if you tell me where to go, I'll bring you whatever you're hungry for."

"You'd really do that?"

I laugh. "Of course I would! I wouldn't have made the suggestion otherwise!"

"That would be awesome! But I have one condition," he states, and suddenly, I'm drowning in a sea of green as he fixes me with his stare, eyes sparkling and a persuasive smirk on his face.

"What?"

"You have to eat with me."

_Oh my._ What I wouldn't give to read his mind for just ten seconds. But we're teasing now, not being serious, so I put aside that this is the second time this week he's sort of asked me out on a date.

"Well, I wasn't planning to just sit and watch you eat!" I exclaim. "Unless, of course, I don't like the place you choose. If that's the case, then you'll just have to eat by yourself."

"You know something? You're a bit sassy once you get to know you."

Smirking, I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," he says, raising his hands defensively.

I laugh and shake my head. "So, you pick the night, and I'll bring us dinner. You've got my cell phone number. You can call me at lunchtime and put your order in, and I'll go pick it up before I come to your room that night. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Now, eat your roadkill parmesan before it gets cold," I scold.

He laughs so hard he ends up having to curl an arm over his stomach, but he's still grinning despite his discomfort.

He eats quietly for a few moments, and I peruse his menu for tomorrow so I'm not just sitting there blatantly staring at him. But I _am_ staring. He's just so damn happy today. So different from the man I met almost two weeks ago. That Edward was brooding and moody, but now that I understand why, it makes sense. But this is definitely who he really is. He's soft-spoken and open, playful and sweet. He's perfect.

Edward moves his plate away and zeroes in on dessert, and I'm happy to see he ate most of what he was given. He pulls the slice of apple pie to him, fork-cutting the first bite and offering it to me.

"You _have _to sample dessert," he says enticingly.

I close my eyes and try to think about seeing my dad naked because if I let what just popped into my head go any further, I'm going to have a serious problem. It doesn't matter in the slightest that I can't do what I'm thinking to him right now—most of what we fantasize are things we can't do. Yuck! The dad thing worked. _Okay, now answer him, Bella, before he notices you're clenching your thighs._

"Oh, that's okay …"

"Come on, Bella! I've never met a girl who didn't like dessert."

_Oh, God, Edward, you have_ no _idea._

I realize the quickest way out of this is just to eat the damn pie, so I open my mouth and allow him to feed me. It actually tastes pretty good, and it puts me in mind of grandmothers rather than having Edward for dessert, so it turned out to be a good solution after all.

"Mmm, that's actually good!" I exclaim, unable to hide my surprise.

"I told you this stuff is not only edible, but recognizable as food," he admonishes me.

"Well, I'm glad they're feeding you decently then."

He leans back and closes his eyes, and I can tell he's fading. Dammit. I can't imagine what it would be like to be that tired all the time. Sadness slices through me as I realize our lovely day is about to end.

"Edward, I should go. It's getting late, and you're tired. Besides, Sebastian is waiting for me. He's going to think I abandoned him," I add, to take the emphasis away from his condition being the reason I'm leaving.

"I guess," he murmurs, looking down at his lap.

I stand up and raise his chin with my hand. "Hey, it's okay. I'll—"

"No," he says, cutting me off. "Let me this time. Bella, would you please come back tomorrow?" he asks in that velvety voice of his, his eyes soft and serious, and oh, so sincere.

I get weak in the knees, but somehow I manage not to fall over. I take the hand that was under his chin and run my fingers through his hair. "Of course I will," I whisper.

He leans into my touch and mumbles, "You could do that again."

I smile, but he doesn't see me because his eyes are closed, enjoying the feel of my fingers in his hair and already drifting toward sleep. I continue to stroke his hair softly until I hear his breathing become heavy and even.

_Goodnight, sweetheart._

* * *

><p>AN: This might be my favorite chapter in the whole story. If not, it's damn close! Chapter 13 will post on Monday—no teaser this week. I know it's a long wait, but I still have work to do, and I'm spacing out the happy chapters so that when things get tough I can post twice a week for you. Thank you, as always, for reading, for your reviews, and for taking this journey with me. Have a good week!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Sunday, July 22, 2012**

I float through my evening and the next morning, not allowing myself to think too hard about my feelings for Edward. We had a great day together yesterday, and I'm grateful for it. There are still things I need to do to help him, but sometimes, you just have to stop and smell the flowers, or appreciate the gorgeous man who's smiling only for you.

_Thank you, sir. May I have another? _I think to myself as I walk into his room at two in the afternoon on Sunday, ready for another movie-watching day and awesome visit with Edward.

I push the door open, but I grab it before it gets to the squeak point so I can have a look at him before he notices me.

Something's wrong. His eyes are closed, and even though he's lying still, I can tell every muscle and nerve in his body is tense. He looks pale, almost … gray, and worn out. The skin around his eyes is tight, and his jaw is set firmly. He's in pain, and a lot of it, unless I'm completely off base. _Shit._

As I let the door make its customary squeak, he opens his eyes and smiles weakly at me. "Hey, Bella."

I walk over to the bed and cover his hand with mine, but he flinches, so I quickly pull my hand back. "What is it?" I ask, frowning.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and his breathing is all wrong. He doesn't seem to be having trouble breathing, but he's huffing out his breaths as if he can't relax.

He opens his eyes again, and he looks so incredibly tired. "I'm … not having a good day today," he admits softly.

_What in the holy hell happened since yesterday?_ _How can he go from happy and almost carefree to this in less than twenty-four hours?_ "What happened? You were feeling so good yesterday."

"I was, but I woke up this morning in a lot of pain, and it seems to be getting worse as the day goes on."

"Where does it hurt?" I ask, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"Every-fucking-where. My joints feel like they're on fire," he huffs out in frustration, and he winces as he raises his hand to show me his swollen knuckles.

I wince myself as I stare at his fingers. They even _look_ painful. That explains why he jumped when I put my hand on top of his. "Does the cancer do this?"

He nods, grunting out a breath. "Yeah, the cancer causes inflammation in my joints that's like arthritis. It always hurts, but it can flare up and cause severe pain like this sometimes."

"Is it only your hands?"

"No, but they seem to be the worst. I can pretty much feel it everywhere today—feet, ankles, knees, wrists, elbows. Fuck," he mutters as he closes his eyes again.

"Have they given you any pain meds?"

"Yeah, they're giving me anti-inflammatories, and codeine for the pain, but it's not even making a dent."

"What about something stronger? Like morphine?"

"Alice would give it to me, but I don't like taking morphine. It affects me really strongly. I get sick to my stomach and I feel out of control. I have to be hurting pretty badly before I'll ask for it."

"And _this_ doesn't qualify as pretty badly?" I demand, raising my voice a little.

His lips turn up in a lop-sided grin, and despite the situation, I'm happy I can at least get him to smile a little bit.

"Yes, it does, but I'm hoping I can outlast the pain without having to take any. Actually, the last time I had any was the day you first came to see me. That shit makes me high, and I don't remember half of what I'm saying and doing. No, if I can live without it, I plan to."

I smile as I remember that first day, but from his point of view, I'm sure it's not nearly as good, especially if he can't remember things. God, he looks tired.

"We can watch our movie another day. Do you want me to leave so you can rest? You look _so_ tired."

"Please don't," he answers, looking a little desperate. "There isn't a chance I could sleep right now, and I could really use something to try to take my mind off the pain. I couldn't even fucking draw today to keep myself distracted," he says, glaring down at his swollen fingers. "Can we watch our movie just like we planned? Please?"

"Of course we can. I didn't want to leave, but I would have if you needed me to. Anything I can do to make this easier for you."

He gives me a sweet smile. "Thanks, Bella. Just you being here makes it easier."

Warmth flows through my chest, and I know I'm blushing … _again_. How is it he can make me go from zero to full blush in like five seconds? It's a talent, that's for sure, but I don't have time to explore it further today.

"Thank you, Edward. I _want_ to be here. Now, why don't I go see about our TV and DVD player? Will you be okay until I get back?"

"Of course," he says, smirking. "I'm certainly not going anywhere."

I grin at him, not allowing myself to think about the implications of his words, and go in search of Alice. I find her at the nurse's station, typing away at the computer.

"Hey, Alice."

"Hey, Bella. Are you and Edward watching another movie today?"

"That was the plan. Is the TV available?"

"Yes, I can bring it down for you guys. Hey, what's the matter?" she asks, and I wonder what she can see on my face.

"Isn't there anything else you can do for him today? He's really miserable."

Alice frowns at me. "Yes, I know he's in a lot of pain. He won't let me give him morphine, although I can't say I blame him because he got really sick from it last time. I'll check what we're giving him and see if I can up the dosage. He can also put heat or cold on his joints for some relief. Did he say what was bothering him the most?"

"His hands," I tell her, wincing as I remember how bad they look.

"Why don't I give you a few cold packs for him, and he can see if that helps? I would have offered them to him sooner, but he's so quiet, and he never complains—he needs to learn to speak up so I can be of more help."

"I'll see what I can do about that. Thanks, Alice," I say as she hands me four cold packs.

"Don't let him ice anything for more than fifteen minutes at a time. It can actually make it worse if he overdoes it."

"Okay, I'll keep an eye on him," I call over my shoulder.

I return to his room and find him just as I left him—eyes closed with his head resting back against the pillow, pain etched all over his face.

"Alice is going to bring the TV down, but in the meantime, she gave me these," I tell him, holding up the cold packs. "She says the cold might give you some relief."

He looks skeptical, but he nods slowly. "Okay, it can't make it worse, right?"

"No, I don't think so," I say as I bend the pack to mix the chemicals to make it cold. I put it on my own hand until it feels noticeably colder, and then I move closer to him.

He watches me with trepidation, and I see his arm tense as I get close, but the minute I lay the pack over his knuckles he moans in obvious relief.

"Oh, wow. That definitely helps tone the fire down. I didn't think it would make that much of a difference."

I smile as I go around the bed and place the second pack on his other hand. "I've got two more. Where do you want them?"

"Damn, that's a tough question," he mutters, shifting on the bed a bit and wincing.

"Well, Alice said to only do fifteen minutes at a time in any one spot, so we can move them around every fifteen minutes."

"Um …" he hesitates, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"What is it? I'll do whatever you need me to."

"Well, I'd really like to put them … on my knees."

Now I see the problem. He doesn't want to uncover his legs in front of me. I can think of a whole bunch of reasons for that, and I don't really need to know which ones are driving his discomfort.

He starts to slide his hand out from under the ice pack, cringing as he does so.

"Edward, sweetheart, stay still. It's all right; I understand. What if I just uncover your knees from the sides, and put the ice on that way? I won't uncover your legs at all."

He's looking at me strangely, and I have no idea why. Am I wrong about this?

"Thanks, Bella. I'm sorry; I just—"

"Hey, you don't need to explain. I get it. But let me help you, okay?"

"Okay."

He watches as I lift his blanket and sheet gently over his knee in a triangular fold, and place the point between his legs. A bright red rash covers his thighs and calves, but I do my best not to look as I drape the ice pack over his poor knee. Just like his hands, he's got some swelling there, too. Damn cancer. Edward is the first patient with lymphoma I've ever befriended, so I had no idea about the host of nasty symptoms blood cancers can cause. Fuck.

I do the same to his other side, and he sighs softly. He looks a little more relaxed, and his breathing isn't quite as uneven.

"There. Why don't we watch our movie now?" I suggest, trying to get us back to something normal and away from the problems of Edward's day.

"Well, we—" he begins, but he's interrupted by Alice pushing the TV cart through the door.

"Sorry it took me so long," she says, grinning at us. "I got called away by another patient and it took a while. Are the cold packs helping, Edward?"

"Yes. Thank you, Alice."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You know, if you told me half as much as you tell Bella, I'd be able to make you a lot more comfortable."

He grins at her sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Alice. I'm just not a natural complainer. Bella either pulls things out of me, or else she comes to her own conclusions about what I need, and then comes and talks to you. I'll try to do better, though, because I really could have used this sooner today."

My chest tightens at his words. I wonder what else Edward has missed out on or suffered through because of his quiet nature and the fact he has no one to advocate for him. It's not Alice's fault. The nurses are busy, and I'm sure it takes them most of their day just to meet the basic needs of their patients and deal with people's requests. There's not a lot of time to sit and think about what a less vocal patient might need.

I know I have no power to advocate for Edward, but I promise myself I'll be more observant. Maybe I'll start coming by in the morning, too, just to see how his night went and if he needs anything.

Alice smiles at us as she leaves the room, and I walk around Edward's bed to set up the DVD player. When I'm finished, I come back to my chair, and he looks at me a bit sadly.

"I wish you could sit with me today, but I really don't think I can slide over without making myself cry."

"Oh, no, I wasn't even thinking about that. I would hurt you every time I moved even the littlest bit. You need your space today."

"Yeah," he agrees, sounding dejected.

"Another day," I tell him. "We can watch movies again next weekend, if you want, and I'll sit next to you then."

"Deal," he responds, brightening a bit.

"Are you hungry? I brought more popcorn, although I realize you're not exactly up to feeding yourself today. I'd be happy to stuff both our faces," I say, grinning.

He smiles at me, and I detect the hint of a chuckle. I'm amazed I'm getting even that much from him right now.

"No, I'm not hungry. And to be honest, I don't know if I could keep anything down anyway, hurting this much. But you can make some for yourself."

"No, that's okay. We'll save it for next week," I tell him. I'm not about to torture him by sitting here and eating popcorn in front of him since I know from yesterday how much he likes it.

Continuing with our action theme, today we watch "Star Trek Into Darkness". I watch the clock, and every fifteen minutes, I pause the movie and move the ice packs around for him. By the time we're near the end, I've managed to ice all his major joints twice, and he seems more relaxed than when I first got here.

Unlike yesterday when he was chatting and cracking jokes, he's been silent through the entire movie, so I know he still must be in a lot of pain. He's been closing his eyes a lot, but just when I think he's asleep, he opens them again and stares at the screen.

I feel utterly helpless as I sit here, watching him.

When the movie finishes, Edward's eyes are closed, and I'm fervently hoping he's managed to fall asleep. I get up very quietly and circle around to the DVD player. Taking out the disc, I shut everything down as quietly as I can, but when I turn around, I see he's watching me.

"Dammit, I had hoped you were asleep. You really look like you need it."

He shakes his head, grunting a bit. "I wish I could because I'm really fucking tired, but there's no way until this lets up. Do you need to head out?"

His voice is neutral as he asks, but his eyes tell me he wants me to stay. On a normal day, I can't deny him anymore, but today, I'd do absolutely anything he asks if it'll help him even the slightest bit.

"No, can I stay for a while?"

"Of course you can. I'm … sorry I'm not much company."

My jaw drops. "Seriously? You're apologizing to me for _this_? Damn, Edward, you need to cut yourself some slack. You're not here to entertain me."

He smiles faintly. "I know. I just meant that we had such a nice day yesterday—well, I know I did. I had been hoping today was going to be the same."

"I had a nice day yesterday too. I wish today was exactly like it, but I guess we can't win them all."

"No," he murmurs, looking entirely too lost in his thoughts for my liking.

"Well, if you're happy for me to stay, do you want to watch another movie? Did that help distract you at all?"

"Yeah, it did. A bit. That's fine."

I pop in the first Abrams' Star Trek movie and continue to ice his joints for him. He spends most of the two hours with his eyes closed, and I spend most of them watching him, wishing there was something I could do to ease his suffering. I wonder how many times this has happened in the three months since his relapse, and how many more times it will happen before the end.

I try to throw myself into the movie for a while, but I finally glance over and find Edward staring at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and a tear escapes down his cheek.

"Edward, what can I do?" I ask, unable to keep the pain out of my voice.

He doesn't open his eyes, and his quiet admission breaks my heart. "I'm sorry. I'm just fucking miserable right now. I don't think there's anything anyone can do."

"Why don't you let Alice give you some morphine? It can't be worse than this, can it?"

"It was pretty bad last time. I couldn't tell you how many times I threw up, and it went on for hours. That's certainly not going to help me get any sleep, and I don't think I could handle it after the day I've already had."

_Damn. _Now I understand why he doesn't want morphine—I wouldn't be eager to have that experience again either. I can't resist the urge to touch him anymore, so I stand up and run my fingers into his hair.

He opens his eyes, and he shakes his head a little. "Don't. As much as I normally like that, there's just no touch that's right today. I'm too on edge."

I nod as I withdraw my hand. Fuck, there really _is_ nothing I can do for him.

"Bella, why don't you go home? It's getting late, and you have work tomorrow. You need to get some sleep."

The thought of going home and curling up in my warm, comfortable bed while he lies here suffering is more than I can take, and tears sting my eyes. "I don't want to leave you."

"I'll be all right. I'll feel better knowing you're home and sleeping, and there's really nothing you can do for me anyway, other than listen to me complain. And you'll be here tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, of course I'll be here tomorrow."

"Then go," he says, giving me a small smile. "With any luck, this will let up soon, and I'll get some rest, okay?"

He's the one taking care of me right now, and I hate that I'm letting him, but watching him like this has really gotten to me today. I'm sure he can see it on my face. But he's right. There's nothing I can do, and sitting here and feeling bad for him is just making _him_ feel worse about the whole thing. I shake my head. This is the kind of shit that happens when you're emotionally involved with someone. I should be trying to take away his problems, not adding to them.

"Okay, I'll go home. But I'm going to tell the night nurse to come down and see you, so you make sure and tell her how bad this is. Maybe she'll have something else for you to try."

"Okay, I'll talk to her," he promises.

"Thank you. I'll come and see you first thing tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes," he says, closing his eyes again.

I beat a hasty retreat before I can change my mind. I get the night nurse to up his pain medication and promise to check on him at least every half hour through the night since he's in such bad shape.

Then I go home and cry myself to sleep wrapped around a gray tabby ball of fur.

* * *

><p>AN: Why do I feel as if I need to run and hide now? I felt SO guilty reading everyone's reviews last week, knowing this was coming next! I can't leave you here for a whole week. There will be a teaser in Shadow Fics tomorrow, then Chapter 14 will post on Thursday. Hang in there, all!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**Monday, July 23, 2012**

My first stop this morning is Edward's room, but Alice intercepts me before I can get to his door.

"I wouldn't even go in this morning. He was up most of the night, and he's only been asleep for a couple hours. The last thing you want to do right now is wake him."

_Fuck._ I want to question Alice about his night, but I know legally she's not allowed to tell me, and I'll just be thinking about it all day anyway. If he's sleeping now, he's obviously doing better than he was when I last saw him.

"Thank God, he's finally getting some sleep. No, I certainly don't want to wake him. I'll come back at four and see if I can talk to him then."

Alice smiles and pats my shoulder then continues on her way to another patient's room.

**¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)¸.·ˆ¯)**

Edward's face lights up when I open his door later that afternoon. His green eyes are glassy and sparkling. He looks so relaxed. This is good!

I draw in a rapid breath. This isn't good. This means he's had morphine today. I purse my lips. _Fuck._ The pain must have gotten bad enough that he finally asked for it. But that thought floats away as he grins at me goofily. I haven't seen that look since the first day I met him, and I can't help but grin back.

"Bella," he says, drawing out my name as if he's savoring the sound of it.

"Hi, Edward. When did they give you morphine?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "That obvious, huh? Do I look as drunk as I feel?"

"You look … relaxed. And yes, you do look a little toasted," I admit, smiling.

He chuckles. "Great. I'm lit but I don't get to enjoy the drinks, or the good time." He shakes his head lazily. "Um … you asked me something …"

"Yes," I answer, trying hard not to laugh. "I asked when you started taking morphine."

"Right! I asked for it about five this morning. I … didn't sleep last night. The pain kept getting more intense until I just couldn't take it anymore."

"You must be tired, then."

He scratches at his chest as he answers me. "Not really. I slept all day … I think. Well, most of it anyway. I also tried to get all the vomiting out of the way before you got here, but I can't promise."

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"I told you this stuff really messes me up. Today hasn't been as bad as before, though. I got sick this morning when they first gave it to me, but they … changed the dosing somehow, and it's been better. I still feel pretty queasy, though."

_Damn. As if he doesn't have enough freaking problems._ "Do you want me to go so you can rest? I can just see you tomorrow—"

"Bella," he interrupts me, slurring my name slightly. "I've been waiting _all day_ for you to get here. There's not a chance I'm going to let you leave."

I smirk at him. I just gave him his out to keep his dignity, and he threw it back at me as if it was on fire. Yep, this is going to be an interesting visit. "You've been waiting for me?"

"Yes, of course I have," he replies impatiently. "Seeing you is the best part of my day."

"Really?"

"Well … sure," he replies, looking confused.

"I didn't realize I'd become the highlight of your day."

Bright green eyes sparkle at me. "Are you kidding me? A visit every day from a beautiful woman like you? How could anything else in my day possibly top that?"

I chuckle, and his brow furrows adorably.

"Why are you laughing?"

"A beautiful woman like me, huh?

"Did I say that? I _did_ say that, didn't I? Well, I was wrong; you're not beautiful, you're fucking gorgeous. How did I get lucky enough to have someone like you decide to be my friend?"

_Whoa. _Well, I think I might have an answer to my question about whether Edward finds me attractive. Just maybe.

"I'm the lucky one. I've been lucky enough to see your amazing artwork, and to make friends with Sebastian, and most of all, to spend time with you."

"You really like spending time with me?" he asks shyly. "It's not like some obligation or something? Or something you're doing out of pity?"

I thought we'd put this whole thing to rest, but the fact that it's coming up again when he's high and has no filter tells me it's still a worry of his.

"Yes, I really like spending time with you. You're sweet and funny, and I know underneath everything that's going on, you're a very open and loving person."

He frowns slightly. "I'm sorry about that. I wanted to be nicer to you when you first came to see me, but I really _was_ afraid you were here to examine me. And I had … other things to protect." He raises his hand and rubs his forehead. "I really shouldn't be talking about this. My head isn't clear, and I know there's a reason I didn't want to talk about it, I just don't remember what it is right now."

Well, filter not entirely missing, then. "It's all right, Edward. You don't have to talk about it. I don't want you to tell me anything you'll regret later on."

"But I _want_ to tell you everything. Right now I really don't understand why I haven't," he continues, looking up at me as if I might have the answer.

"Edward, sweetheart, let it go for today, okay? You're in no condition to change your mind about any of your decisions right now. If you still want to tell me everything once you're not taking morphine anymore, I'll be happy to hear all about it. I really don't want you to do anything you're going to be upset about tomorrow. I would never take advantage of you that way."

He smiles at me as he reaches across his body to scratch his arm. "Thanks, Bella. You've been taking such good care of me. It really means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. That's what friends are for."

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

"I'd like to think so. I think of you as my friend, at least."

"You called me 'sweetheart' just now. You did it yesterday too. I liked that."

My eyes widen. Oh. I guess I did. I bet that's why he was looking at me funny yesterday. I've been thinking of him that way in my head for a while now, and obviously, he's been thinking things about us too. The question there was not _if_ we're friends so much as if we're _more_ than friends. Oh my.

"Bella, how come …" He stops and closes his eyes. "Never mind."

"What, Edward? You can ask me anything, it's okay." I'm really curious what sort of questions he'll ask when he's high on morphine because those are likely to be the ones he'd never ask me when he's in his right mind.

He opens his eyes slowly and smirks at me. "Well, I was going to ask you why you don't have a boyfriend, but that seemed too abrupt, so I was trying to think of a smoother way to ask."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Wow, morphine is almost like truth serum for him.

I consider deflecting his question, but he's probably not going to remember what I tell him anyway, and … he's likely to be the only person I tell who's not going to judge me.

"I did have a boyfriend," I tell him, "but I broke up with him about three months ago. We had been together for four years. I met him through some friends and we really hit it off, so we started dating, and within a few months, we were living together. He's good-looking and a lawyer, so everyone seemed to think he was perfect for me—even me. But he wasn't. He wasn't interested in who I really am; he just wanted a trophy wife to accompany him to social functions and take care of him. And he … didn't understand or respect what I do. He thought once we got married, I'd quit all this silly psychology stuff, stay home, and raise his babies. I broke up with him the night he asked me to marry him."

"Oh, Bella. I'm sorry! I think you made the right choice, though. You should be with someone because they're your soul mate, not because it's easy or convenient."

I stare at him for a moment because he's managed to sum up in a sentence what it took me months to figure out then act on. "Thanks, Edward. I think I made the right choice too, although at the time, it really hurt me to do it."

"That guy was stupid. He should have talked to you about what you wanted instead of telling you how it was going to be. I would never treat you like that."

Um, is he sitting here thinking about how he would treat me if we were dating? Did I just hear that right? "What about you, Edward? Did you ever find your soul mate?"

"No," he answers softly. "I was dating someone when I first got sick, but it was casual, and she didn't stick around when things got tough. Not that I blame her, really. I dated before that, but nothing that was too serious. And I haven't dated anyone since."

Okay, exactly why the hell did I ask that question? He's sitting here alone, so the only two possible answers to my question were: a) no, he's never found his soul mate; or b) he found her but he lost her somehow. And now we're both sitting here thinking about how he'll never find his soul mate because he's dying. _Brilliant, Bella. Just fucking brilliant. _

"I'm sorry, Edward," I say, because what else can I say?

He just shrugs, wincing a bit. "I shrug a lot. I never knew that until it started hurting every time I do it."

I grin at him; his mind is just all over the place today. Sometimes easily distracted works in my favor.

He scratches at his arm again, a little harder this time. "You seem to be scratching a lot today."

"Yeah, itchiness is a side effect of the damn morphine. As if I wasn't already itchy enough," he mumbles.

Fuck, pain relief shouldn't cost you this much!

"Bella, I'm so glad you come here every day. I don't really want to be alone and … now that you're here, I don't have to be. And you're s-so pretty," he slurs drunkenly. "Your eyes are just _so_ brown. Like chocolate and honey all mixed together. Did you know that?"

_Don't laugh. Don't laugh! _Oh, God, but it's so hard not to when he's being this cute, and he has no idea what he's telling me about himself when he's saying these things. "No. I didn't, Edward. So you like the color brown they are?"

"Hell, yeah. I get lost there all the time."

I can't help it this time, and I chuckle softly.

"What?"

"You're just so damn cute," I say without thinking.

I panic for a second, then I remember he's not going to remember any of this anyway, and the smile that lights up his face would have been worth it even if he did.

"You think I'm cute?" he asks, smirking at me.

"Yes, I think you're cute."

"How cute?" he presses, and I laugh again.

"As cute as they come," I tell him, reaching up to ruffle his hair. I start to move my hand away, but he grabs it and entwines my fingers with his.

"Cute enough to let me do this?" he asks as his eyes drift closed.

"Yes, cute enough to let you do that." And a whole hell of a lot more. _Stop thinking like that, Bella. You're going to make yourself nuts!_

"Sweetheart, you're sleepy. I know morphine knocks you out, plus you probably still need rest after being up all night last night. You look so tired. Why don't I go, and I'll come back first thing in the morning to check on you?"

"I guess," Edward says, pouting. "But tomorrow, I'll probably be back to 'boring' Edward. I think I'm much more fun when I'm high on painkillers, don't you?"

"I admit you are ... entertaining, but I'm happier when you're not in pain, and I like when we both get to remember what we talked about."

"Yeah, I guess there's that," he concedes. "But I like me better this way. I'm more like I was before I got sick."

I bite my lip, thinking about a completely unaltered Edward flirting with me this way, and it just about takes my breath away. I would give anything to see that.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him, and I just can't resist the urge to lean in and kiss his forehead before I go. He grins up at me lazily, his lips still curled in a smile long after his eyes close.

* * *

><p>AN: I think Edward might have it bad for Bella. Just maybe. Chapter 15 will post on Monday.

I lost a friend who was too young this week—not to cancer, but it got me thinking about what I'm doing here and how to use it for good. I was planning to do this at the end of the story, but twice can't hurt. Approximately every 3 minutes one person in the United States is diagnosed with a blood cancer. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society provides incredible support to patients and funds life-saving research. A fandom friend's son was recently afflicted with a blood cancer, and thankfully his particular type can be treated with an oral medication that will hopefully reduce his mutation to undetectable levels, aka remission. From a PILL. No bone marrow transplant, no chemotherapy, no radiation…to me this is nothing short of miraculous. And LLS supports the research that makes it possible. I know we all have many charities we can give to, but consider sending something to LLS. If even one person does, then this story has done more than entertain. Maybe it's helped save a life, or aided someone in need of support. Thank you. www lls org


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